🔥 No Walls 🔥
An Exclusive Bonus Chapter from Crease Crasher
Thank You for Reading! 💙
You made it to the bonus content — which means you’ve survived the fridge, the house rules, the arrangement, the five rules that died one by one, the word convenient, the hotel room with the sailboat painting, and a man who said I love you for the first time at midnight in polyester sheets. Thank you for giving Sasha and Levi your time.
⚠️ Content Warning: Extremely explicit MM sexual content including oral sex, penetrative sex in multiple positions, edging, deep-throating, dirty talk, praise kink, body worship, control/surrender dynamics, and multi-room encounters. Set two weeks after the ESPN interview. Readers 18+ only.
No Walls
Set two weeks after the ESPN interview. The night before training camp.
Alternating POV.
I. The Apartment
Levi came home from a late-summer skate to find the apartment transformed. Not dramatically — Sasha wasn’t a candles-and-rose-petals man. But the details were pointed. The pregame sauce was on the stove — not a game day, the sauce simmering because Sasha had made it purely because he wanted to. The blue mug and the WORLD’S OKAYEST HOCKEY PLAYER mug were on the table with wine. And the bedroom door was open, and the sheets were new — dark and soft, the Sasha Volkov equivalent of hiring a skywriter.
Sasha was at the counter in jeans and a black T-shirt Levi had never seen. New clothes. For a night in. The man who timed his eggs had gone shopping.
“You cooked,” Levi said.
“The sauce is not exclusively game-day property anymore. I’ve emancipated it.”
Levi wrapped both arms around his waist from behind. “What’s the occasion?”
“Tomorrow we walk into the rink as us. Publicly. No arrangement, no secret. Just us.” He turned in Levi’s arms. “I want to mark it. Every room. Every surface. No rules. No clock. I want to be loud enough that the neighbors file a complaint. And I want to walk into the rink tomorrow with your marks on my body where the whole locker room can see them.”
“You made a plan. For sex. You have an itinerary.”
“I have suggestions. The itinerary is flexible.”
Sasha kissed him to shut him up. The kiss tasted like wine and fennel and intent.
They ate. Sasha mentioned a text from Denis Korchenko — tracked down after the interview: Spasibo, Sasha. Thank you. He lived in Kyiv. Coached junior hockey. The interview was the first time he’d heard a professional player say the words out loud.
“You did that,” Levi said.
“We did that.”
Then Sasha set the towel down and said: “The couch.”
II. The Couch
The game-tape couch. The four-foot-no-man’s-land couch. The couch where Sasha’s hand had found Levi’s ankle without permission and started something neither of them could stop.
Sasha pushed Levi down onto it. Climbed into his lap, knees bracketing his hips. Fully clothed, the pressure of Sasha’s ass against Levi’s cock sending a pulse of heat through both of them that the fabric did nothing to contain.
They kissed. Deep, filthy, thorough — Sasha treating Levi’s mouth like territory he intended to map completely. Shirts came off. Skin to skin. Sasha’s hands on the tattoos, tracing the rose, the compass, the ink that mapped a body he’d learned to read the way he read ice.
Sasha slid off Levi’s lap and onto the floor. Between his knees. Not submission. Not control. Devotion.
He pulled Levi’s cock free — thick, flushed, already slick at the tip — and looked up with an expression that was playful and hungry and completely free.
“I’m going to take my time,” Sasha said. “And you’re not going to come until I tell you.”
He took Levi into his mouth. Slow. Devastatingly slow — his lips sliding down the shaft with the same attention he gave game tape, his tongue working the underside in flat, dragging strokes. He took him deep — past the soft palate, into the throat — and held, jaw stretched around the girth, eyes watering, throat working as he swallowed around the head.
Sasha edged him. Brought him to the brink with deep, rhythmic strokes — feeling the tightening of the abs, the hitch in breathing — and backed off. Kissed his hip. Mouthed his inner thigh. Let the wave recede.
“Sasha—”
“Not yet.”
Again. Deeper this time, taking him to the root, nose in the coarse hair, throat working — and backing off at the edge. Again. The third edge, the cruelest one, Sasha’s hand wrapped around the base and stroking in rhythm with his mouth, the dual sensation building a pressure so intense that Levi’s vision whited out.
“Now,” Sasha said, and took him all the way down and swallowed.
Levi came so hard his spine left the couch. His cock pulsed deep in Sasha’s throat — thick, throbbing waves that Sasha took without pulling off, throat working in steady contractions, milking every drop, hands on Levi’s hips holding him steady while the orgasm tore through him.
Sasha pulled off. Wiped his mouth. Sat back on his heels with the satisfied expression of a man who had executed a plan flawlessly.
“That was the appetizer,” he said.
Levi stared at the ceiling. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Not tonight. I need you functional.”
Levi pulled him up and held him. “A year ago you couldn’t look at me across this couch. Now you’re giving me an edging itinerary.”
Sasha laughed. The real one. The miracle.
“Kitchen next.”
III. The Fridge
“I owe this refrigerator an apology,” Sasha said. “The first time I kissed you was against that door and I ruined it by pretending it didn’t happen.”
“You didn’t ruin it. You just delayed the acknowledgment. By several weeks and one emotional crisis.”
Levi pinned him against it. The reversal was deliberate. He pressed Sasha back until the cold metal met his bare back and the magnets rattled — the same sound, but different now. Not fury. A return.
Levi held Sasha’s wrists above his head. One hand, both wrists, pinned against the freezer door. Sasha could have broken free with a twitch. He didn’t. Surrender was his love language now.
Levi’s free hand opened his belt one-handed — a skill he’d developed over months. His hand slid inside and wrapped around Sasha’s cock. Sasha’s head fell back against the fridge, hips bucking into the grip, a low groan that the kitchen acoustics amplified.
Then the jeans came down and Levi dropped to his knees on the tile.
The blow job was the inverse of Sasha’s — not controlled, not edging, but relentless. Fast, wet, sloppy, Levi taking him deep from the first stroke, both hands on Sasha’s ass pulling him forward. He fucked his own mouth on Sasha’s cock with an enthusiasm that was athletic and pornographic, the fridge rattling in a continuous percussive rhythm behind Sasha’s back.
Sasha’s hands flew to Levi’s hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, gripping, holding on while his hips snapped forward and the kitchen filled with the wet, obscene sounds of a man being devoured against his own refrigerator.
He came hard. The orgasm crested in a sharp peak that left him shaking, his cock pulsing against Levi’s tongue, the release flooding hot and thick. Levi swallowed all of it.
Sasha slid down the fridge door. Legs gone. He ended up on the tile beside Levi, pants around his thighs, Levi’s mouth red and wet and grinning.
“The magnets fell off,” Sasha said.
“Good. We don’t need rules anymore.”
Sasha picked up the lobster magnet. Put it back. Old habits. But he was smiling while he did it.
IV. The Hallway
They didn’t have sex here.
They lay down on the hardwood — half-dressed, post-kitchen, wine-warm — and held hands the way they had that first night. Sasha on his back, Levi beside him, fingers interlaced, staring at the ceiling.
This was the breather. The still point at the center of the storm.
“Jonesy will make several speeches. There will be tears. He will hug us both at the same time and call it a ‘team sandwich’ and I will have to pretend that’s not the worst phrase ever coined.”
Sasha laughed. The third laugh tonight.
“The sticker moved again,” Sasha said. “Outside the locker. Not inside. I moved it yesterday.”
“The glacier moves,” Levi said.
“The glacier runs. The hiding was more exhausting than the being seen. I’m tired of being tired.”
“Take me to bed,” Sasha said. “The one with the new sheets. I bought them for tonight.”
“You bought sheets. For sex.”
Levi pulled him up. Led him down the hallway by the hand, past the spot where they’d lain in gala suits, into the bedroom at the end of the hall.
V. The Bedroom
The sheets were dark gray. Soft. The bed was made with something attempting hospital corners but not quite achieving them, because Sasha had made it while thinking about what would happen on it later, and even his precision suffered when his blood was being redirected.
They undressed each other completely. Sasha unbuttoned Levi’s jeans and slid them down, kneeling as the fabric descended, pressing his mouth to the skin he revealed — hip bone, thigh, the inside of the knee. They stood naked in the lamplight, in the bedroom that smelled like new sheets and cedar.
Levi laid him down on the dark sheets and began the work of taking him apart.
Teeth closing over the spot where neck met shoulder — deliberately hard, hard enough to mark. Sasha arched into the bite and groaned because the marks were the point.
“Harder,” Sasha said. “I want them to see.”
Levi bit harder. Sucked the skin until the bruise bloomed — dark, definitive, positioned where no collar could cover it. He worked his way down. Kissing, biting, marking — a bruise on the collarbone, a bite mark on the chest, red lines from his fingernails down Sasha’s ribs. Each mark was a sentence: I was here. This body belongs to someone who isn’t afraid anymore.
Levi worked him with his mouth while his fingers found the lube. One slick finger pressed inside while his mouth stayed on Sasha’s cock, and the dual sensation drew a sound that was half Russian and half prayer.
Two fingers. Three. Levi curled his fingers and found the spot and Sasha’s spine bowed off the mattress and the curse that tore out of him was in a language Levi didn’t speak but understood completely.
Four fingers. They hadn’t done four before. The stretch was new — more intense, more demanding, the kind of openness that required trust beyond the physical. Sasha’s body tensed, then released, the muscle fighting and surrendering in cycles.
“Breathe,” Levi said. “Match me.”
Their breathing synchronized. Sasha’s body opened. The tension gave way to a fullness that was overwhelming and exactly right.
“Inside me. Now.”
Levi pushed inside in one long, continuous stroke that drew matching groans from both of them. Face to face. The position Sasha had once been unable to sustain without closing his eyes and that was now his requirement, because the eye contact was the point and the being-seen was the thing he’d been running from and was now running toward.
Deep, rolling thrusts that bottomed out and held. Each stroke dragged across Sasha’s prostate, and each time his face showed it — the parted lips, the eyes going glassy with pleasure.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Levi said. “Open. Unhidden. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Harder,” Sasha said against his mouth. “I can take it.”
Levi went harder. Faster. His hips driving forward with the controlled power of an athlete producing all of it. Sasha’s legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. The bed protested — sheets tangling, headboard tapping the wall, mattress creaking with a rhythm that was percussive and relentless.
Sasha talked. The man who had spent thirty years controlling his voice finally using it at full volume, narrating his own pleasure in a stream of English and Russian that was uncensored and devastating.
“There — right there — God, the way you feel inside me — I spent a year pretending I didn’t want this and I want it every day, every night, I want to feel you tomorrow when I’m standing in the crease — don’t stop, don’t stop —”
They flipped. Sasha on top. Riding — not mechanical, not controlling, but joyful. His hips grinding in slow circles that kept Levi deep, his head tipped back, his cock bouncing between them untouched.
“Look at you,” Levi breathed from below. “God, Sasha. The way you move. I could watch this forever.”
They shifted again. On their sides — legs tangled, Levi entering from behind with Sasha’s leg hitched over his hip. Just two bodies as close as they could physically get, moving in a slow, rolling rhythm that was more rocking than thrusting. Levi’s hand on Sasha’s cock. Levi’s mouth on the back of his neck — the spot where the first rule-breaking kiss happened.
“I was so scared you’d never let me in.” Levi’s voice, raw, against the skin of Sasha’s neck.
“I was so scared of what would happen if I did.”
“And?”
“And it’s the only good decision I’ve ever made.”
Levi’s hand tightened. His hips pressed deeper. And Sasha came — not with a shout but with a sigh, deep and long, the orgasm rolling through him in slow waves. His cock pulsed in Levi’s hand, and his body clenched around Levi inside him, triggering Levi’s own release — a groan pressed into the back of Sasha’s neck, both of them shaking, both of them saying the other’s name.
Together. Held. Home.
VI. Morning
Dawn. The new sheets were destroyed. A wine glass sat on the nightstand, half-empty. Levi was awake. Sasha was asleep on his stomach, one arm flung across Levi’s chest — the boneless sprawl of a man who had been thoroughly, comprehensively wrecked across four rooms.
Levi looked at the marks. The bite on the neck. The bruise on the collarbone. The red lines down his back. Not a statement. Not a flag. A fact. The way a ring was a fact. A marker that said: someone was here. Someone is staying.
Sasha stirred. Opened one eye. “Time?”
“Six. Alarm’s at six-thirty.”
“Thirty minutes is not enough for what you’re thinking.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“You’re hard against my hip and your hand is on my ass. I’m a goaltender. I read situations.”
They used the thirty minutes. Not for a full encore — for the quiet, half-asleep version that was all lazy hands and slow grinding and Sasha coming in Levi’s fist with a soft, sleepy groan that was the most intimate sound Levi had ever heard. The sound of a man who felt safe enough to be vulnerable in the fragile minutes between sleep and waking. The sound of home.
They showered together. Dressed. Sasha in his first-day gear — the bite mark visible above the collar. The bruise peeking past the neckline. He looked at himself in the mirror. At the marks. At the stories they told.
He didn’t cover them.
Levi appeared behind him in the mirror. The private grin in place.
“Ready?” Levi asked.
Sasha looked at their reflection. Two men in a bathroom mirror. One covered in tattoos, one covered in marks. Both standing in the apartment they’d built together — not the pristine, controlled space of thirteen rules and labeled shelves, but the messy, warm, inhabited space of a home.
Sasha reached for Levi’s hand. Took it. Not in the dark. Not behind a wall. In the daylight, with the rink waiting and the world already knowing.
“Ready.”
They walked out together.
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Chase Power
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