The final buzzer echoed through the arena like a gunshot. Sweat poured down my back under the pads, my cock already half-hard from the adrenaline and the way my little brother Jake kept slamming into me on the ice, checking me harder than necessary, his eyes burning through his visor. We were the only ones left in the family locker room after the win, the rest of the team long gone. At twenty-four and twenty-two, we knew exactly what this was.
Jake peeled off his jersey first, tossing it on the bench. "You played like you wanted me to wreck you out there," he growled, voice low and filthy. He shoved his shorts down, his thick cock springing free, already leaking. I didn't answer with words. I dropped to my knees on the cold tile, grabbed his hips, and swallowed him to the root in one messy gulp.
He tasted like salt and victory. I gagged on his length, spit dripping down my chin as I worked him with my throat, tongue swirling under the head. Jake's hands fisted my hair, fucking my face in short, brutal thrusts. "That's it, big brother. Suck that dick like you own it. Been thinking about this all game while I checked you into the boards."
I pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting my lips to his swollen cock. "Shut up and fuck me already." I stood, yanking my own gear off until I was naked, bent over the bench with my ass up. Jake didn't waste time. He spat on my hole, rubbed the head of his cock against it, and shoved in deep with one hard thrust.
I grunted, the stretch burning in the best way. Jake's hips snapped forward, pounding me raw. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with his filthy grunts. "Tight fucking hole. Been saving this for me?" He reached around, fisted my cock, and stroked in time with his thrusts. Every slam drove me forward on the bench, my balls swinging, pre-cum dripping onto the floor.
He pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and hooked my legs over his shoulders. This angle let him go deeper, his cock dragging over my prostate with every stroke. I stroked myself while he railed me, the wet sounds obscene. "Harder," I demanded. Jake obliged, sweat dripping from his chest onto mine as he fucked like he was trying to break me.
We switched positions again when I needed more. I rode him on the bench, sinking down on his cock until my ass cheeks rested against his thighs. I bounced hard, grinding down to take every inch, my own dick slapping against his abs. Jake's hands gripped my ass, spreading me wider, fingers digging in as he thrust up to meet me. "Look at you, slutty big brother, taking it all."
I came first, shooting ropes across his stomach and chest without touching myself, my hole clenching around him. Jake followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and flooding me with hot cum. It leaked out around his cock as he kept pumping, making everything slicker and filthier.
We didn't stop there. After a quick rinse under the shower, Jake pushed me against the tiles and ate my ass, tongue spearing into my cum-filled hole while his fingers worked my cock back to hardness. I returned the favor by bending him over and fucking him just as rough, my load joining his inside him by the end.
By the time we collapsed on the benches, spent and sticky, the ice was long silent. We showered again, slow and thorough, hands lingering. The drive home was quiet, but the promise hung in the air for the next game, the next locked room, the next time blood and hockey and need collided again.
