Chapter 120 120: Slow
Two days to the championship...
"You two have been great, and, I must say... my company made the right choice. However..." Sloane slid her eyes between Saint and Baby.
"I really do wish you both luck. You know the rules—fail and you're out. It doesn't matter how long you've grinded for this. It's simply the rule," she said, leaning away from her car she had parked in front of their apartment.
Saint and Baby had just returned from training that evening. The last thing they needed was Sloane hanging around their tired necks.
"Thank you for your wish, Ms. Sloane. But if you really want us to give our best shot, I suggest you let us hit the sack," Baby said, shifting his weight impatiently.
Saint's lips lifted in a small smirk.
He didn't need to speak; Baby was handling Sloane just fine.
Sloane smiled. "Be at the Arena on time. I'll see you both in two days' time," she said and turned to her car, sliding in elegantly.
"Bye," Baby waved.
"So caring," Saint murmured as Sloane's car drove away.
"Indeed," Baby muttered, walking into the apartments.
"For one, I feel like she picked us just so she could pick on us..." he huffed.
"That... and because she only picks the best. We are good, Baby. Don't let her money-driven attitude affect you—"
"Just get in the elevator, Mr. Motivational Speaker," Baby gently pushed Saint in.
"Just saying," Saint winked at Baby.
Baby rolled his eyes and leaned his shoulder against the elevator, counting the floors as they climbed.
"After you," Saint spoke gently as the doors hissed open, holding out his hand to Baby.
"What in the chivalry is this?" Baby chuckled, taking Saint's hand anyway.
"I love you," Saint whispered and led Baby out.
"Damn... I'm fucking sleepy," Baby murmured as they approached their apartment.
"Me, too," Saint agreed as he unlocked their door.
They entered, and the door clicked shut behind them.
"So tired..." Saint whispered, hugging Baby and burying his nose in the crook of his neck.
"Very," Baby murmured, wrapping his arms around Saint.
Saint lifted his face, staring into Baby's blue eyes. "De-stress?" he asked softly.
"De-stress," Baby smiled.
"Good. I love de-stressing," Saint whispered, his face leaning down.
"Shower first?" Baby moved his face to the side.
"No. Shower later," Saint gently turned Baby's face toward him and kissed him.
Baby hummed in agreement and grabbed the back of Saint's neck, pressing their lips into a deeper kiss.
They managed to make their way to Saint's room, and as Saint climbed over Baby on the bed, their clothes were long discarded on the floor.
"Slow? Fast?" Saint whispered huskily as he aligned himself between Baby's legs.
"Love me, Saint... slowly," Baby cupped Saint's face, tracing his lips with his thumb.
Saint's breath caught at the simple request.
"Slowly," he repeated, voice low and reverent, like a vow.
He leaned down, kissing Baby deep and unhurried, tongues sliding together in a lazy dance that tasted like exhaustion and want and the quiet safety of finally being alone. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Baby's, grey eyes dark but soft.
"I've got you," Saint whispered.
He reached for the lube on the nightstand, slicking himself generously with slow, deliberate strokes while Baby watched, lips parted, chest already rising faster. Saint coated two fingers next, then slid them between Baby's thighs, circling his entrance with gentle pressure before pressing in—one finger, then two—scissoring carefully, opening him with patient care.
Baby sighed, legs falling wider, hips tilting up to take more. "Feels good already…"
Saint kissed the inside of Baby's knee, then the soft skin of his inner thigh, all while his fingers worked him open—slow curls, gentle thrusts, never rushing. When Baby started rocking down onto his hand with quiet little moans, Saint withdrew, lined himself up, and pushed in.
One long, continuous slide.
No snap of hips. Just steady, inexorable pressure until he was buried to the hilt, hips flush against Baby's ass, both of them breathing hard at the perfect fit.
"Fuck… Baby," Saint groaned, voice strained with how tightly Baby gripped him. "You always feel like heaven."
Baby's hands slid up Saint's back, nails lightly scratching. "Move… please. Love me like you said."
Saint did.
He rolled his hips in long, deep strokes—pulling out almost completely before sinking back in, grinding at the end of every thrust so the thick head dragged over Baby's spot. The rhythm was languid, sensual, every movement deliberate and worshipful. The wet slide of skin on skin filled the room, accompanied by their shared, ragged breathing and Baby's soft, broken whimpers.
Saint braced on one forearm, the other hand cupping Baby's face, thumb stroking his cheek as he fucked him slow and deep.
"Look at me," Saint murmured.
Baby's blue eyes opened, glassy and heavy-lidded, locked on Saint's.
"That's it," Saint praised quietly. "Let me see you. Let me feel how much you need this."
Every thrust earned a new sound from Baby—soft gasps when Saint bottomed out, a shaky moan when he dragged back out, a desperate little keen when Saint circled his hips at the deepest point. Baby's cock lay hard and leaking between them, untouched, twitching with every perfect grind against his prostate.
Saint kept the pace torturously slow, drawing it out until Baby was trembling beneath him, fingers clutching at Saint's shoulders, legs wrapped tight around his waist.
"Saint… deeper—please—" Baby begged, voice cracking sweetly.
Saint obliged, shifting his angle just enough to hit that spot with every long glide. He leaned down, capturing Baby's mouth again in a messy, open kiss while his hips continued their unhurried rhythm.
"You're so perfect like this," Saint whispered against his lips between kisses. "Taking me so well… so deep… so slow. My Baby."
Baby whimpered into the kiss, clenching hard around Saint's cock. His own length throbbed, smearing slick across both their stomachs with every roll of Saint's hips.
"I'm close," Baby gasped, breaking the kiss to bury his face in Saint's neck. "Don't stop—feels so good—love you—"
Saint's hand slid between them, finally wrapping around Baby's neglected cock. He stroked in the same slow rhythm as his thrusts—long, firm pulls that matched every deep glide inside.
"Come for me," Saint whispered, lips brushing Baby's ear. "Let me feel you come while I'm still buried inside you. Slow and sweet, baby. Just like this."
Baby shattered with a soft, broken cry—back arching, thighs shaking, inner walls pulsing rhythmically around Saint's length as he spilled hot and thick between them. The orgasm rolled through him in long, luxurious waves, his hole fluttering and squeezing in time with every slow thrust Saint kept giving him.
The tight, rhythmic clench dragged Saint over the edge right after. He buried himself deep, hips grinding in tiny circles as he came with a low, guttural groan, flooding Baby with heat in slow, pulsing spurts.
They stayed locked together long after, Saint's weight a comforting blanket over Baby's body, both of them breathing hard and trembling through the aftershocks.
Saint pressed soft kisses along Baby's jaw, his temple, the corner of his mouth.
"Love you," he whispered, still buried deep, still rocking ever so gently inside him. "So fucking much."
Baby smiled, sleepy and sated, arms tightening around Saint's back.
"Love you more, Kross."
Saint nuzzled into his neck, placing one last open-mouthed kiss over a fading bruise from two nights ago.
"Shower can wait," he murmured. "Stay like this a little longer."
Baby hummed in agreement, legs still wrapped around him, content to keep Saint inside as long as possible.
Two days until the championship.
But tonight, there was only this—slow, deep love, tangled bodies, and the quiet certainty that no matter what happened on the ice, they belonged to each other.