Page 49

“I mean it. You’re kind and fun and you light up a room.” And my heart. That was too cheesy, but Cross could say, “I missed the hell out of you. And you’re not bad to look at either.” He raked his eyes up and down Rusty’s lanky body as he reclined in the corner of the couch. “Eye candy for sure.”

“Not putting that on my kiddie camp resume.”

Cross snorted. “No, of course not.” He leaned forward and ran his hand from Rusty’s knee up the inseam of his jeans. “How tired are you?”

“Uh. What do you have in mind?” Rusty grabbed Cross’s wrist. “I haven’t jerked off in, like, three whole days, so if you want something, you need to be aware it won’t take much.”

Three days. Like that’s a long time, hah. We’re nothing alike.

Cross told his inner voice to shut up. “Three days. Poor baby. I bet you’d like to have my hand on you.”

Pathetic sex talk.

He told his inner voice to go take a trip to outer space. “I want to see you come.”

“Uh, really? You don’t need to. I didn’t come here for sex.”

Cross pulled free of Rusty’s loosening grip and moved his hand higher till he brushed the growing bulge in Rusty’s jeans. “Are you turning it down?”

“Are you kidding?” Rusty grinned and locked his hands behind his head, stretching out his legs farther. “I’m all yours.”

That was invitation enough. As Cross leaned forward, his ankle gave a sharp twinge, but he shifted his weight and found a position where the pain eased.

The damned thing was not getting in his way tonight.

No distractions. Because look at that man.

Rusty’s shining eyes and parted lips belonged in some kind of artwork.

Although his tented jeans and muscular arms might make that an erotic piece.

Cross reached for Rusty’s belt and undid the buckle, slipping the leather through. The metal button resisted, then popped open. He took hold of the zipper pull and slid it down, a few teeth at a time. Halfway open, he paused.

Rusty groaned and arched his hips under Cross’s hands. “Quit teasing.”

Cross gave Rusty’s denim-clad thigh a light slap.

“Hold still.” He continued his unzipping, then pushed the sides of Rusty’s fly apart.

The blue cotton underneath strained to contain Rusty’s erection, and as Cross trailed one finger over the outlined shape, a damp stain darkened the fabric at its tip.

“Eager,” Cross teased, pressing his fingernail over the fabric where Rusty’s slit had to be.

“Ugh. Three days, dude.”

Cross reached into the fly of those boxer-briefs and worked Rusty’s cock free of the soft fabric. The angle was a bit awkward, but Rusty’s dick twitched at the handling and a bead of precum welled out. “Can I jerk you off?”

“You can do anything you want to him, and if it ends up with me coming, I’m not complaining.”

“Anything? Him?” Cross reached for a tissue from the couchside box and folded it into a little triangle, perching it on Rusty’s cockhead like a hat. “Does he need a bow-tie too?”

Rusty cackled with laughter. “Jesus, Cross, you’re ridiculous.”

He’d never been silly and ridiculous around people, not even close.

Everyone said he was much too serious. Except apparently around Rusty.

He grinned back, set the tissue aside, and began stroking in earnest. The angle was awkward and Rusty’s legs were too close together to get at his balls, but from the way he moaned and tipped his head back, it must’ve felt good.

Cross thought about going for lube, but that’d be a whole production with his crutches.

Rusty was leaking enough slick to help. A few swipes with his palm across the slit and Cross had a little glide going.

He braced on one arm, kept his fist tight around Rusty’s dick, and leaned over him to kiss his neck and under his jaw.

Rusty made a pained sound and bucked into Cross’s grasp.

Perfect.

The slide of Rusty’s cock in his fist and the shiny head popping up through the ring of his fingers set up a low hum in Cross’s groin.

He was getting hard for the first time in a long time, and although he didn’t want to do anything about it, that arousal heated his body and made his heart race.

He licked his palm, getting his hand wet with spit, and jerked Rusty faster, tighter.

“Come on, come for me. I want to see you.”

Rusty groaned harshly and grabbed the edge of the couch. His cock pulsed in Cross’s grip and he erupted, spurting ribbons and globs of jizz all over his shirt. Cross kept pumping him, sloppy and wet now, until Rusty groaned again and dribbled a few last drops on his waistband.

“Oh God, sensitive,” Rusty muttered.

Cross let go, picked up the handy tissue, and wiped his fingers. More tissues took care of Rusty’s softening dick and underwear. That shirt was a loss though. He grinned.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” Rusty eyed him under half-lowered lashes.

“Yep.” He took in the sight of Rusty, slumped bonelessly on his couch, flushed and breathing hard and spattered with cum. Cross wanted to take a picture. I did that.

“Well, you should be. That was awesome.”

“Pretty basic.”

“Still awesome. Worth waiting three days for.”

“Three days. The ultimate sacrifice.”

Rusty laughed and crunched up, sliding a hand behind Cross’s head and kissing him. “You bet. Ew, this shirt is sticking to me.” He pulled it off, balled the fabric up, and dropped it to the floor, baring his tanned chest.

Cross admired the two-thirds-naked look. His dick twitched, and he palmed himself.

Rusty looked down. “You want me to do anything with that?”

Do I? Cross thought about asking Rusty to jerk him off in return and felt a little of his arousal fade. “No, I’m good. I just like looking at you.”

“Yeah?” Rusty did a few muscle-flex poses, grinning. “All yours, any time.” He shivered. “Although right now, I need a shirt.”

“I can maybe find something.” Cross wondered what he had that would fit Rusty’s wide shoulders.

“Nah, stay put. I have a flannel shirt out in the truck. Although, really, I should get going. Early morning and all.”

“Do you want to stay?” Cross suggested, surprised how urgently he hoped Rusty would say yes. “Tonight, at least?”

“Thanks.” Rusty tucked himself away, scooped up his shirt, and stood, though. “I should have a shower and settle in.”

You could shower here. But he knew better than to push.

Rusty might’ve brought life and warmth to his somber house, but Cross couldn’t clutch tight and refuse to give him space.

“Sure. You could come over after work tomorrow, if you want.” He fumbled for his crutches and pushed to his feet.

Rusty watched closely, but let him do it on his own.

God, I l— like him. A lot.

“Yeah, I’d like to come over. I didn’t drive all the way out here just to play hockey with kids.”

“You didn’t?”

Rusty rolled his eyes and nudged him, lightly enough not to knock him off balance. “I’ll text you when I’m done tomorrow.”

Cross wanted to ask where he was staying. He hadn’t had the money even for that little room he rented in the season. But Rusty was a big boy— very big boy — and if they were inching their way toward equality, his living arrangement was probably none of Cross’s business unless invited.

He could say, “I have an extra chicken dinner in the fridge for tomorrow. I could feed you. Won’t be pizza but it’s healthy.”

“I’d like that.” Rusty bent and kissed him, then jogged to the door and let himself out.

Without him, Cross’s house returned to its hollow state.

Except not quite. The faint scent of sex hung in the air, and the echo of Rusty’s laughter lingered.

He’ll be back tomorrow. Cross realized he hadn’t been looking forward to anything all week, just getting through each day, doing his rehab, working hard, reviewing tape, single-minded on recovery one day at a time.

But now, there’d be tomorrow night with Rusty across the table, eating disgustingly healthy chicken and steamed vegetables.

Rusty would make that fun.

Cross reset his alarm, tidied up, moving slow but better than the first day home, and took himself off toward bed.

He’d showered after physio, and he hadn’t done anything to get messy beyond his fingers, but the warm privacy of his shower stall had a sudden appeal.

Safely covering his boot was easier now, with the shower sock gripped tight above his knee.

He sat on the little plastic bench as water cascaded over him and thought about Rusty, how he looked when Cross jacked him, how he gasped and groaned when he came.

Cross’s dick got hard enough that a little self-care felt necessary.

He stroked himself, letting his thoughts drift, not imagining anything, just enjoying the slide of his fingers on his sensitized skin.

After a while, the throbbing need of orgasm rose, tightening his balls.

He fisted himself harder and came, a pulse of pleasure that quickly ebbed.

The lingering warmth spread through him, making his body feel soft and relaxed.

He soaped up his hand and his groin, rinsed, and realized he was smiling.

That was nice. It’d been a while since he’d felt the urge to come.

Do I want Rusty to do that for me sometime?

The question pushed aside some of his satisfaction.

He felt his shoulders tighten. The only answer he had was maybe , and thinking about it was sabotaging how good he felt.

I don’t need to know. This was a perfect evening.

I made him feel great, I feel good, he’s coming back tomorrow.

Don’t look a fucking gift horse in the mouth, LaCroix.

He got out, toweled off, and took himself to bed. There on his soft sheets, even without Rusty at his side, he fell asleep faster than he had all week.