Sergeant Bull : Part 3

Bull nodded. “Andy it is.” Their hands remained locked together a moment longer. Bull felt the heat of the other man’s fingers, the hawk-like focus of his dark eyes, and a spark of attraction he hadn’t known for another man since the old days with Sarge Samuelson. The next sip of beer left a trace of moisture on the rough stubble above Andreychuk’s full lips. Bull now stared at the other man’s ruggedly handsome face without worry, because the hockey jock, too, had started to size him up.

“You Rangers,” Andreychuk said. “You’re the ones who go in first. Not the peace keeping or diplomatic kind. You’re the killers. Ever kill anyone, Sarge?”

The directness of the hockey jock’s question deflected Bull’s gaze back to his beer and the sports news. “I been to Grenada, Iraq, and Somalia.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Bull sighed and shook his head. “You’re pretty tough yourself. You ever kill anybody?”

Andreychuk moaned out a cocky whistle. “Guy, every time I lace up my skates. The rest of those pussies don’t stand a chance.” He raised his half-empty glass. “Here’s to the two toughest guys stuck in the middle of this fuckin’ blizzard.” Bull clinked his glass against Andreychuk’s and polished it off. Before he could order another, the hockey jock asked, “So what are you doing so far away from Seaside? You didn’t come all the way down to Pittsburgh just to watch my hairy ass play hockey – or did you?”

Bull smiled. “Actually, I ain’t been to Seaside in some time. On my way up there now. Been in North Carolina for a couple of years.”

“Yeah, thought you had something of a twang to that baritone a’yours. What’s up in Seaside?”

Drawing in a deep breath of the beer and jock-smelling air, Bull replied, “Haven’t driven my hog anywhere but North Carolina. Figured it was time I got off base and did some relaxing.”

“You drive a Harley?” Bull nodded. “Fuckin’-A, guy. But you ain’t going anywhere in this shit.”

“I got a room at the hotel – a good night’s sleep and I’ll start out in the morning once they clear the roads.”

“This place here?” Andreychuk thumbed the direction of the lobby beyond the sports bar’s double doors.

“Yup. You?”

“S’posed to fly to Buffalo for our day game tomorrow, but airport’s closed. They booked us here, only we gotta double and triple up, ‘cuz the hotel’s all filled due to the storm. I have two roomies now – one who farts, and the other’s a rookie who’s probably gonna keep me up all night spanking his pud to the porn channel.”

Bull narrowed one eye on Andreychuk. “I got two double beds in my room, but I gotta warn you – I fart, and I ain’t gotten off since West Virginia, so the remote control belongs to me.”

Saying nothing, a sexy smirk on his hairy face, Andreychuk fished a twenty out of his wallet and tossed it onto the bar. Bull could barely believe what was happening – it could have been all that beer, or the nut-pumping adrenaline of the hockey game, or the fact Andreychuk was simply looking for a place to crash.

Neither man talked on the elevator ride – which seemed to take forever – up to Bull’s room. Finally, Bull unlocked the door and strutted in. He’d barely taken a step into the room when he was shoved forcefully face-first down onto the nearest bed.

“What the fuck-?” Bull huffed, throwing the other man off him. Andreychuk landed on his feet at the side of the bed, a mean grin on his face.

“Just wanted to see how tough you really are, Sergeant Bull.”

“Tougher than you’ll ever be, fucknuts,” Bull chuckled in an angry voice, standing.

Andreychuk waved him on, just the way Bull had seen him instigate a fight out on the ice a hundred times. “Then come on, tough guy. Show me what you got for balls down in those BDUs.”

The throbbing itch in Bull’s jeans now pulsed at full steam, robbing the last of the moisture from his mouth. Stopping long enough to give the meaty fullness between his legs an obvious squeeze, he charged the hockey jock, tackling him back onto the bed. Andreychuk growled out a sexy laugh, wrapped his arms around Bull, and bear-hugged their groins against one another. Soon, both men were wrestling on the bed, shedding clothes with inhibitions.

“I don’t fuckin’ believe this,” Andreychuk grunted, temporarily gaining the topside of Bull. “You hot fucker.”

Bull grabbed Andreychuk’s concrete ass and mashed the bulges between each man’s legs headfirst into the other’s. “What about your wife, guy?” he huffed, one hand clamped to the hockey jock’s solid, muscled leg.

“She’s a couple hundred miles away, Sarge,” Andreychuk spat, humping his cock into Bull’s. “‘Sides, I don’t meet too many guys as tough as me, and that’s something a woman could never give you back.”

Andreychuk’s leather jacket joined Bull’s ball cap in a pile on the floor. Pushing up off of Bull, the hockey jock peeled off his crisp white t-shirt, baring the hairy chest and bushy black fur of his armpits beneath.

“Fuckin’ nice,” Bull groaned, kicking off his boots before running a hand up and down the other man’s pecs.

“What about you? You’re not the typical guy who gets off on man-sex.”

“I like pussy as much as the next dude,” Bull answered, groping the prominent bulge in Andreychuk’s blue jeans. “But, yeah, there’s times when hooking up with another guy will only do.”

“Yeah?” The handsome hockey jock stood and stepped out of his sneakers, leaving him now only in white sweat socks and blue jeans. Andreychuk’s pants came quickly off, baring his hairy legs and the well-packed manhood trapped in a snug-fitting pair of gray boxer briefs. “What about don’t ask, don’t tell?”

Bull stood, puffed his chest, and dropped trou. “I don’t take it up the shitter,” he growled in a threatening voice.

“Neither do I, guy,” said Andreychuk, ripping Bull’s t-shirt off his head with so much force, he almost took the First Sergeant’s dog tags with it.

“Then we do got us a problem, ‘cuz somebody’s gonna get fucked tonight, and it ain’t gonna be me, guy.” Bull reached into the hot, sweaty fullness of the hockey jock’s midlength underwear. The fat, round head of Andreychuk’s hairy cock slid out along Bull’s wrist. He dipped his fingers lower into the mossy patch of coarse hair lining the other man’s flat abs, lower still until he’d gotten a good feel of two fat, full nuts in a sweat-soaked ball-bag. “That’s a big set of stones, guy.”

“I’d say we’re an even match.” Andreychuk eased Bull’s white briefs to the side, freeing his rock-hard eight incher. “Fuck, guy-!” Jacking their cocks together for a few moments sent both men groaning. “This goes no further,” Andreychuk eventually growled, all friendliness gone from his voice, his game face restored.

“That works for you, too, guy. Nobody else ever knows.”

“Rangers oath,” Andreychuk sighed, moving closer. Bull met him halfway, smashing his lips against the hockey jock’s unshaved mouth. They kissed deeply, hungrily, teeth and tongues and lips colliding. The other man tasted like beer and oral sex, Bull thought, and fuck – he had to be the handsomest fucker he’d seen in a long time.

Spinning Andreychuk’s ass toward the bed, Bull pushed the other man down onto his back. When Andreychuk didn’t struggle, Bull squatted down between his hairy, solid jock legs and lifted up one foot. Peeling down the sweat sock, Bull licked at the other man’s long, flat toes. Andreychuk grunted his approval. “Yeah, guy – lick my stinkin’ feet!”

Lick and sniff them, Bull did. During his time in the days following Desert Storm, he’d realized how sexy a man’s feet could be, and Bruce Andreychuk’s feet were about as sexy as they came. Perfectly clipped nails, threads of shiny black hairs on top of each toe, and the kind of manly smell that came after a good, honest game of sweat-drenched ice hockey all worked Bull into a frenzy. He sucked as much of Andreychuk’s toes into his mouth as he could take, lapping between each one. From there, it was on to the other foot.

“Aw, fuck, guy-!” Andreychuk howled, rubbing the spit-soaked toes of his free foot through Bull’s buzzcut. “You found the weakness in my offense, Sarge.”

Looking up, his mouth wet with the sour sweat of the other man’s feet, Bull could see the truth behind Andreychuk’s statement. Fresh beads of perspiration had broken across his brow, and a pained, mean look now twisted the stubbled corners of his mouth. Slobbering the hockey jock’s toes with long, wet licks, Bull teased Andreychuk worse, until he’d begun to openly jack the dick hanging out of his boxer briefs.

Bull licked his way higher, tracing his tongue up the taught, solid muscles of Andreychuk’s hairy legs. When he reached the elastic leg band of the other man’s underwear, Bull gave the knob of his cock a fast lick. Andreychuk raised his hard ass up to accommodate as Bull yanked down his boxer briefs. Finally, he was totally naked, and true to his statement back in the bar, his ass had to be one of the hairiest Bull had seen, corps or civilian.