Page 11 of Rocking the Receiver (Austin Troopers)
CHAPTER 11
TIME IN A BOTTLE
Rupert
One year later
Who would invite a fellow expat to his Manhattan bachelor pad? Who would suggest following traditions they weren’t born with simply because they live in the country? Who would get sidetracked from basting the turkey breast by the convincing young man currently mauling my willing mouth?
That would be me.
“Mmm…” The vibration of Elliot’s voice resonates inside my filthy mind, horny body, and wicked soul as his skilled tongue caresses mine.
Imagine how amazing it would feel against my sex-deprived dick.
Ever since Elliot barged into my well-organized life, I can’t seem to get a grip. Whenever he’s around, lust clusters my brain. It started when he tricked me at that French café and hasn’t returned to normal since. First, the occasional texts to the desperate kisses and innuendos… How I found the willpower to resist his plea during the wedding eludes me.
On the other hand, my pleading was met with little resistance and we had an absolute blast at Christmas in Colorado. Hardy brought his seven-year-old son to a Santas vs. Grinches charity hockey game. We tagged along, and guess what? Elliot recognized one of his brothers’ former rugby mates among the players and introduced us. Small world…
My band members and their significant others were oddly unfazed by my guest. Hardy’s met Tim many times, but he never pressed about my friendship with his younger brother. As for his wife, she declared that Elliot “being uprooted from his country” made her feel protective of him. Coward me couldn’t speak out the truth…
But what was it then, and what is it now?
All I know is that since then, we’ve done our best to get to know each other better, spending time together as much as our schedules allow and resisting the urge to touch or kiss. I encouraged him to find a deserving boyfriend rather than an older, closeted British country singer who won’t pursue commitment. He knew that I hooked up here and there. He didn’t know those men were faceless to me. He should have known I was trying to protect us…
So, for Thanksgiving, I aimed for the traditional experience, down to having way too much food (granted, most of it is catered). The original plan was a quiet dinner, catching up on my latest artistic news and his recent football feats, and maybe a movie afterwards.
With an NFL game on in the background, I opened the door to a gleeful Elliot, who played nice and helped with my late dinner prep—European time—since we agreed to watch the game first. He teased me when I admitted that I’d never watched an entire football game, aside from ones he played in. There’s a first for everything.
Another first was Elliot staying at my place for an extended weekend. But clear boundaries were drawn: He knew I had a two-bedroom, and that Sally’d moved in with her boyfriend.
Once everything was either in the oven or slowly reheating on the stove, I took Elliot’s duffel to the guest bedroom. From then on, the brat made a point of pushing the envelope.
“Damn, you can be such a snooze sometimes,” he called out.
Next thing I know, he effortlessly pushed me onto the sofa like I weighed nothing. In the blink of an eye, he straddled me and claimed my zealous mouth.
Yup, my soul is definitely going to rot in Hell at the pace things are progressing between us today. But then again, I don’t believe in Hell. Derailing from my principles is another story, though.
And that’s where we’re at!
“Come on, Rupert, give me more,” Elliot whimpers, wrenching his swollen lips from mine. “I’ve been behaving… for years…” The little devil’s darkened eyes dare me to stop him as he shamelessly grinds against me, creating a delicious friction.
A guttural strangled sound escapes from my throat; a battle between yearning, frustration, and reason.
About to wave the tired friendship excuse, I’m saved by the bell when the timer beeps. Elliot makes a tssk noise, doesn’t budge, and concludes in a fevered tone, “Sex first, food later.” Then, he slides down my lap, so that his fingers have access to the zipper of my black jeans.
Swiftly, my hand presses over his. “Don’t! There’s no rush, please…” He surprisingly obeys, his hands grazing the side of my clothed body instead. Sucking in a breath, I add, my free hand cupping his cheek, “You’re here for a few days.” I’m not sure why I said that. Convincing myself that this is indeed inevitable? Luring him in the hopes that I’ll cave, although I’m not sold on the idea? Tempting fate to see where this extended weekend will lead?
“Damn, I can’t believe I found someone more stubborn than me! Sometimes, I wonder if you’re just an old, bigoted, virgin gay country star!”
With that, I grab his hips and swap positions, forcing his powerful body to lie down and snatching his wrists over his head. An amused smile flashes on his face when I use the other hand to align our erections. My free hand is everywhere. In his silky hair. Along his strong neck. Under his dress shirt. Too bad I can’t reach his ass!
So much for not rushing things…
“You’re gonna pay for this, trust me… and I’m no virgin.”
“Are you attracted to me at all?”
“How can you doubt that?” His face scrunches in confusion. “Listen, I am 100 % into you, Elliot… The thing is, I haven’t made peace with this idea just yet… and taking your virginity isn’t to be taken lightly. You’re my best fr?—”
He eats my words with moans, until he comes up for air. “Look, in case you haven’t noticed, patience isn’t my strong suit, and it’s wearing thin. Sorry, not sorry…” He shrugs. “I’m gonna turn twenty soon! This is Thanksgiving, and I’m thankful you invited me, so I’ll behave… tonight. Do you realize how fucking hot you are?”
I chuckle at his bluntness. “Right back at you.”
“It’s really difficult for me to slow down, but, you’re right. We have time. But this is only about us… Your friendship with my brother has nothing to do with us. He was never part of the equation. If he was such an issue for you, your dick wouldn’t be throbbing against mine right now. So, enough about him!” He pecks my lips and motions to get up.
I don’t stop him. Without asking for instructions, he opens drawers like he owns the place and sets the table while we make small talk, pretending we’re not sporting boners. Then, I tend to the turkey before we sit back down to watch the game. His animated comments melt my stupid heart.
In between numerous expletives, he explains how it all works. “See, I’m handling your football virginity and not making a big deal out of it!”
“Ha-ha!” I take notes, which he finds endearing. Of course, he’s rooting for Dallas. “My endgame is the NFL, as you know, but my college choice in Austin is also tactical. I want to play for The Austin Troopers.”
He’s so driven for a guy his age. But then again, I was told he’s always been that way, and that’s a major turn-on. Dallas wins, which earns me another salacious kiss.
Later, we busy ourselves plating food—twice as much in Elliot’s case!—that we consume in between easy conversation, laughter, and unabashed glances. I’m trying to control the situation as best I can, subtly pushing him to stuff his face. The idea is that he’ll fall asleep, and I’ll be off the hook… for now.
It’s pretty late into the night once we’ve cleaned up the kitchen and brush our teeth. I pace the living room, browsing my social media, half-thinking he might already be sound asleep. I halt when he stands before me in his black boxer briefs.
He reaches for my neck and absently caresses my pulse point with his thumb. “I told you I’ll behave and I mean it… But I want to sleep next to you,” he unapologetically demands. My heart thumps faster. He doesn’t miss it, a sly grin widening on his gorgeous face. The back of my neck stiffens. “Relax, baby, I can tell you’re afraid of ruining my virtue. Hence,”—he gestures in front of him—“undies, even though I prefer to sleep naked.”
“ Baby ?”
“Why not?” His hand coasts down my arm until his fingers intertwine with mine. He leans closer and whispers into my ear, “That’s what I’ll call you when you let me have my way with you before the weekend is over, baby. ” Goosebumps travel across my fevered skin. He leads me to bed. My bed. Big spooning me, obviously. He falls asleep within minutes with his breath tickling my neck; my plan was somewhat successful, aside from the massive hard-on I’m sporting from having his covered dick nestled between my butt cheeks.
Ignoring it, I focus on his breathing, my own lullaby. I love both a little too much.
Something buzzes loudly and annoyingly inside my head. Dream? Reality? I toss and turn until I reluctantly prey my eyes open. Warmth is laced around my sleepy body. Elliot.
Right, we slept in my bed.
His arm is snaked around my waist, a leg over mine, and his stiffy pressing against my thigh. Was I hard 24/7 when I was his age?
Eventually, the buzzing starts again. Damn phone!
Grumbling, I snatch it from the nightstand, scolding myself for being so distracted by Elliot’s presence in my bed I forgot to put it on airplane mode.
Eyes widening in rising anger, I stare at the screen, inwardly cursing to avoid waking him. Unknown number; I never take these calls anyway. My brain is so sluggish that only now do I notice the two missed calls. Same unknown number in Brooklyn.
WTF?
Elliot grunts, but doesn’t move.
I decide to pick it up, at least to make the buzzing stop. “Hello?” My usual morning voice, full of gravel, suddenly sounds odd to me.
“Rupert Smith?” a woman’s voice inquires. Once I’ve confirmed my identity, she then recites my full address as well as her name and position. I’m too out of it to pay closer attention until I hear her say, “I’m calling from Presbyterian Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for a Miss Sally Mitchell.”
My throat constricts. Awkwardly, I manage to untangle myself from Elliot’s strong hold. A cold knot settles in the pit of my stomach. Standing next to the bed now, I’m frozen in place. “Yes, that is correct. Is she okay?”
“She was admitted a few hours ago. She was in a car accident, and we need someone to come down and discuss her condition.” Her words don’t quite register.
My words come out on autopilot. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I ask again, “Is she okay?” The woman on the line simply repeats her instructions. I assume she’s a nurse, but I’m not familiar with the US healthcare system, so I can’t be sure. “I’m on my way,” I confirm and hang up, doing my best to control my skyrocketing pulse.
I must have been less than discreet because Elliot’s alarmed gaze zooms in on me, concern etched on his young features. My brain is now on full alert, going a mile a second.
Sally. Brooklyn. Car…
Where the heck is Nathan?
When Sally and I talked this morning, she mentioned a Thanksgiving party with one of his friends.
Catching my breath, I pace the room, debating whether to call Nathan, and yell, “Fuck!” It’s either too early or too late, right?
What the fuck’s going on anyway?
“Everything okay?” Elliot’s collected voice inquires, already jumping out of bed.
“No, it’s Sally. She’s in the hospital.” I huff and puff. “I need to go.”
“I’ll come with you,” Elliot replies immediately, not asking for details. “Get your things. I’ll call an Uber. Let’s go.”
I’m speechless at his assertiveness. The nurse’s words repeat inside my head, so I follow his lead. We get dressed in record time, grab our coats before slamming the door behind us, and head out into the crisp morning air to hop into the Uber.
The ride from Chelsea to Brooklyn takes forever. The city lights blur as we make our way to the hospital. My mind is racing with worry. My shoulder touching Elliot, I brief him on Sally’s Thanksgiving plans. For a split second, I again consider reaching out to Nathan or even his best friend, Virgil Blake. I’m pretty sure when I called her this morning, Sally mentioned he would be there, too. I do have his number for some reason, but I’ve only met him a couple of times during art shows.
Can’t do either. One thing at a time.
Elliot’s pinky rubs the back of my hand. Even with the small surface it covers, it warms my heart. I whisper a thank you, to which he nods.
Upon our arrival, I rush to the front desk and introduce myself. Silently, Elliot produces my ID that I don’t recall getting in the first place. “I’m here for Sally Mitchell.” The urgency in my tone freaks me out.
Am I overreacting?
The nurse directs us to the waiting area. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”
We sit down, the sterile smell of the hospital enveloping us along with the muttered conversations of strangers. I miss his touch, but his reassuring muffled words help. I like that he doesn’t pretend that everything’s going to be alright. Nobody knows that. Still, I’m grateful for his anchoring presence, making the excruciating wait a little more bearable.
Eventually, a doctor approaches to deliver more information. “There’s been a carjacking incident. Miss Mitchell is in a coma.”
My face falls.
“What?”