The Wild Heart

by Emrys Apollo

  Clint shook his head slowly, eyes intent. “I’m just talking about fucking. What’s your issue there?”

  Sean wished Clint would stop using that word. It was… arousing. “You know it would complicate things.”

  “How?” Clint asked simply.

  Sean gaped at him. Flustered, he pushed at Clint’s chest. “Can you please give me some room to breathe?”

  Clint eased back at that, but he didn’t back up too much. He waited, jamming his hands into his pockets. His eyes, black, looked unwaveringly at Sean’s.

  Sean took a deep breath, both missing Clint crowding him and also a little relieved. “Clint, things would get fucked up if we… did that. Feelings would be hurt.”

  “You think I’d ever hurt your feelings?” Clint asked quietly.

  Sean swallowed. It had to be said. “Yes.”

  Clint’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t back away. Sean admired that. “I’m sorry. I never meant to do that. I would never hurt you like that again. I would never, Sean.”

  Sean shook his head. “How do you know?”

  Clint rubbed a hand over his mouth, suddenly looking exhausted. “I know. But you’re the one who doesn’t.”

  That struck Sean silent. He dropped his eyes, away from Clint. He felt suddenly tired and sad. What had happened to them? He wished he could forgive Clint. No, not forgive him. He had already forgiven him. But he couldn’t forget.

  “So you won’t even let me fuck you?”

  Sean looked up at that. Irritated, he snapped, “Stop using that word.”

  Clint searched his face quickly, then smiled a little. He approached Sean slowly. “Which word?”

  Sean flushed. He had lost his erection at their conversation, but it was twitching back to life. “Clint, no. Stop.”

  “But I’m confused, Sean. You don’t want me to fuck you?”

  Sean gritted his teeth. “Fuck you!” he snapped, utterly fed up.

  “No,” Clint said, smiling fully now. “Fuck you.”

  Sean glared at him. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Clint flashed a quick mischievous smile. He was standing very close to Sean now. “Tell me this is okay, Sean. Tell me that. Tell me fucking you is okay,” he said, very serious now.

  “I’m scared, Clint,” Sean said suddenly. He regretted it immediately, closing his eyes.

  Clint’s lips were brushing his ear. “I know, baby. I’m scared too. But you want me, and I want you. Isn’t that enough?”

  Was it? Sean’s head was swimming. Clint made it sound so easy, so uncomplicated. Clint made it sound like there weren’t any feelings involved. But there were.

  Sean’s.

  And surely, Clint’s.

  “I don’t want you,” Sean said so weakly, it was embarrassing.

  “You do.”

  And, suddenly, Sean gave up. He couldn’t deny himself this anymore. “I do,” he sighed.

  Clint snapped back, his face full of fierce pleasure. “Tell me what you want.”

  Sean shook his head. “Wait. I don’t want any commitments. I’ll go back to my usual activities,” he said, lifting his chin. Sean could see that that bothered Clint.

  A muscle was ticking in his cheek. “Fine,” he ground out. “So we’re friends with benefits.”

  Sean eyed Clint. “No. We’re nothing. We’re just friends. If I’m in the mood, then… well. Otherwise, no.”

  Clint smiled suddenly. “Oh, if you’re in the mood, huh? And what if I am?”

  Sean shrugged carelessly. “Hunter off.”

  Clint grinned. “Deal.”

  Sean kept his face impassive. “Deal.”

  “So, Sean,” Clint said mischievously, leaning in, “What word did you not want me to use?”

  ***

  Sean seriously wondered whether this much sex could be good for anyone. They were insatiable. If it wasn’t Clint initiating, it was Sean. It was a wonder their dicks hadn’t fallen off. Sean’s ass did get sore after a while and, for a while, they did other things, which, Sean had to admit, was equally delightful.

  But they didn’t leave the bed. It was only when evening struck that Sean began to get nervous. He didn’t want to spend the night with Clint again. It made things complicated.

  So after they ate the sushi Clint had ordered, Sean cleared his throat. “So, Clint, you probably should go.”

  It was blunter that it needed to be, but they had never danced around each other and damned if he was going to start now.

  Clint looked surprised. “Why? You don’t want me to sleep here?” Grinning suddenly, he rolled to Sean, brushing his lips against Sean’s neck. “I promise we won’t sleep.”

  Sean was disgusted to find that his cock actually twitched at that. “No, get lost. I need to sleep.”

  Clint sighed against Sean’s neck. He came up and kissed Sean slowly, nibbling on his lips. “Once more, and then I’ll go.”

  Sean sighed too. “You’ll be the death of me.” But his arms were already coming around Clint’s neck, his legs already spreading a little.

  “Are you still sore?” Clint murmured against Sean’s mouth.

  And Sean was. A little. But he wanted Clint in him. So he shook his head. Clint kissed him hard in reply, tongues tangling. They were both wearing bathrobes and it was easy to discard them, tossing them cleanly away.

  Clint reached for the lube automatically, knowing exactly where it was. Sean inwardly smiled at that. But when Clint slicked up his fingers, Sean’s amusement vanished. He was panting now in anticipation. Clint leaned in for a kiss, bending over Sean. They kissed for a long while, mouths open, sloppily.

  Clint broke the kiss first, leaning back. He caressed Sean’s cock, rubbing the head with his thumb. Sean jerked upwards, but Clint withdrew his hand.

  He spread Sean’s thighs widely. “Fuck,” Clint breathed, resting on his haunches. “You look so hot.”

  Sean felt himself flush with embarrassment and heat. “Just do it.”

  Clint’s finger slipped inside him at that, knuckle deep, and Sean arched at the sudden intrusion, making a soft sound. It ached a little but he was greedy for more. Clint added another finger almost instantly, scissoring inside Sean. Sean made little needy sounds, moaning, hips rocking.

  Clint’s fingers found Sean’s prostate almost instantly and Sean closed his eyes in pleasure. Clint was getting so good at this. Clint’s fingers moved in and out slowly, lingeringly. Sean rocked his hips in response, riding Clint’s fingers, moaning.

  When Clint added a third finger, Sean felt the soreness from before return. He hissed in pain, eyes flying open. Clint stilled instantly. “What? Are you okay?”

  Sean gestured for Clint to kiss him and Clint leaned down immediately. They kissed slowly and Sean whispered, “Keep moving your hand.”

  So Clint thrust his fingers in and out slowly, all the while kissing Sean, and Clint’s mouth was always so distractingly good, it made Sean relax, made Clint’s fingers ache less inside him and when Clint started brushing the prostate again in slow gentle strokes, Sean moaned long and low.

  That was Clint’s signal to add another finger and Sean sighed, not minding the burn. He never did when he was surrounded by Clint like this, skin to skin, mouths clinging.

  Clint fucked him gently for a little while with his fingers until Sean’s hips started moving, until Sean started riding Clint’s fingers, desperate for more.

  “Please,” Sean whispered.

  Clint straightened then, hooking Sean’s knees in his arms. He adjusted his cock against Sean’s entrance, brushing, teasing. Then when Sean arched up, Clint sank in, filling Sean slowly, deeply. Sean didn’t make a sound but his lids fell, his neck arching up as he processed the sensation.

  It was less painful than it had been yesterday, but he was a bit sore from their activities. Clint began to thrust shallowly, adjusting angles until finally Sean’s breath hitched and he arched in pleasure. Clint smiled and began to thrust in that direction, hitti
ng Sean’s prostate over and over.

  They had come so many times that Sean knew it would take a while this time around. Clint’s hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke and Sean moaned. It was so good, almost too good. Clint’s hips were working at the same slow pace, seemingly content to make this last forever.

  Clint leaned over Sean, still moving, still hitting that spot. He began to mouth at Sean’s shoulder, kissing the bare skin there, sucking and licking. Sean closed his eyes, focusing on all the sensations assaulting him. Of Clint’s cock brushing his prostate, of Clint’s hand rubbing him so good, of Clint’s mouth kissing and sucking and licking.

  “Fuck, yes, Clint, yes,” Sean began to babble. He had always been more voluble than Clint in bed and now he couldn’t control himself, words spilling out of him.

  Clint let him go on and on, kissing his neck, his ear, while constantly stroking his cock, constantly slamming into Sean.

  When Sean finally did come, it came not as a sudden onrushing assault on his senses, but a slow build up of pleasure. Every time he expected it to be the peak, it kept stretching out, kept building until finally Sean thought he’d go mad.

  And, finally, finally, the pleasure crested and with one stroke down and one stroke up of Clint’s hand on his cock, Sean was coming and coming and coming.

  He spurted all over his stomach and felt Clint moaning and coming too inside him.

  Clint rolled off of him onto his side. He then climbed out of bed, putting on his jeans. Sean watched drowsily, a little disappointed, but wanting it anyway. When Clint had finished dressing, he came back to the bed, bent down, kissing Sean softly.

  “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Sean murmured back.

  His eyelids closed even before Clint had left the bedroom.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sean was screamingly aware that their time left together was short. It was only a matter of days. He knew Clint would return to life in Ivern and he would go his way too and they’d have nothing more than texts, calls, and Skype.

  It made him moody. He was usually the light-hearted one, the one who made Clint laugh, but he found himself falling increasingly silent, easily irritated by small comments and he often snapped at Clint for unimportant things.

  Of course, Clint never said anything back, merely kept his expression impassive and did as Sean asked. It made Sean feel even guiltier and he would secretly vow not to do it again, but, inevitably, he would get angry and suddenly, he’d be saying something caustic and sarcastic.

  It frustrated Sean that Clint was being so nice. It made things worse. He wished Clint would snap back, would just retaliate. When he realized he was spoiling for a fight, he decided enough was enough. Leaving on bad terms would be much harder for him and he didn’t fully understand why his brain didn’t seem to understand this.

  Impulsively, he suggested going out to dinner. Maybe being cooped up at home had affected him more than he’d thought when he was usually a person who liked being social. Clint, who liked nothing more than lying down on the couch and napping, agreed easily, surprising Sean.

  He was touched that Clint was making such an effort. He was giving Sean a lot of needed space, not being overly touchy except when they were in bed. Sean appreciated that. He didn’t want to cuddle with Clint right now, didn’t want to feel like this was something romantic.

  Clint, for his part, was cheerful and bubbly, chattering and generally trying to be entertaining. He wasn’t very good at conversation and so his faltering attempts amused Sean, but it was sweet, nevertheless. But Clint didn’t flirt-and, if Sean didn’t spend every night under Clint, writhing in pleasure, he would have sincerely believed that Clint saw him only a friend.

  But Clint had always been very good at hiding his emotion. To the point where Sean himself didn’t know if Clint actually had feelings for him under that cool, impassive exterior.

  That added to his moodiness.

  Because he still loved Clint. No amount of distrust was going to change how he felt for him, and although he didn’t want to date Clint, he was still selfish and dumb enough that he wanted Clint to want him. The irrationality of that made Sean even more irritated and he found himself wanting to pull his hair out-or play some football.

  Damn, he missed football.

  He vowed to go practice a little tomorrow. It’d make him feel better.

  He glanced over at Clint. He had dressed in a flowery red shirt and Sean grinned inwardly. Clint’s taste in clothes had always been-for lack of a better word-flamboyant. But it didn’t bother Sean.

  Sean focused back on the road. Clint was fiddling with the radio as Sean drove, humming along to songs. Sean felt something relaxing inside him, the familiar pleasure of being alone with Clint washing over him.

  “I’m starving,” Clint announced.

  Sean made a noncommittal sound. He’d developed a terrible new habit of deliberately not saying much and forcing Clint to keep talking. So far, Clint had been eager to oblige, rattling on and on, but Sean knew it wouldn’t last long. Human nature couldn’t be changed and Clint was never going to be someone who liked to natter.

  But a perverse part of him enjoyed making Clint do something he didn’t like. Let him work for once. Sean laughed out loud at how awful he was being and Clint stopped, smiling quizzically.

  Sean shook his head, winking at Clint. “Nothing, go on.”

  “No,” Clint said, touching Sean lightly on the arm. “Tell me.”

  Sean bit his lip, wondering if he dared. A wicked impulse made him grin at Clint. “I was just thinking that you’ve said more to me in the past few days than all the years I’ve known you.”

  Clint laughed. “Well, I got to impress you somehow,” he said, completely unoffended.

  “Is that what you’re trying to do?” Sean grinned.

  “Yeah. I want you hot for me again.”

  Sean felt his heart fluttering. “I’m hot enough for you.”

  Clint chuckled. “I meant, I want you to like me again.”

  Sean frowned, braking as they approached a red light. He waited until the car stopped and then turned to Clint. “I like you.”

  Clint was still smiling, but his eyes were very serious. “No, you don’t. You love me and you’re attracted to me, but you don’t like me much right now.”

  The light was still red so Sean couldn’t escape. He looked away, staring mindlessly through the windshield. He’d never thought of it that way. But he realized it was true. He had a secret ball of resentment in his heart for Clint. He had really thought he’d forgiven Clint, but a part of him felt like swearing at Clint and throwing things at his head.

  Well. That wasn’t really the definition of forgiveness now, was it?

  The light turned green and Sean accelerated slowly out of the intersection. He said quietly, “I thought I was over it, but I think I’m still angry with you.”

  “Yes, you are,” Clint said cheerfully. “It’ll take some time. You thought you forgave me, but you haven’t. It’s okay. I don’t mind waiting.”

  Sean was forcefully reminded of a time when he’d told Clint he’d wait. He felt guilt rising in his chest. Was he overreacting? Did Clint deserve all this anger?

  But the truth was, he couldn’t stop how he was feeling. Maybe this wasn’t stemming just from the Championship. Maybe it had been years of secret anger at being taken for granted, years of always yearning and never getting, years of always being in love and being treated like an overeager puppy.

  It would explain why he’d been so hurt by this. Sean wondered if Clint knew this too, if that was why he was so understanding about everything.

  Luckily, before his mood started dropping, they arrived to the restaurant and Sean handed off his keys to the valet.

  They had mutually agreed to take a holiday from their diet, to eat whatever they wanted. Sean felt the anticipation make him cheerful and he grinned across the table to Clint, who seemed as equally excited. Sean laughed at them and
this set Clint off, too, and for a while they couldn’t stop.

  When Sean noticed the waiter looking nervous about approaching them, he finally bit his lip, forcing himself to stop. He kicked Clint under the table and Clint immediately sobered, years of media training coming to the forefront.

  But that one laugh eased something between them. It was such a small thing, but the atmosphere lightened appreciably and Sean felt warmth rise in his chest, suddenly realizing how much he had missed their friendship.

  They spent the rest of the dinner laughing and chatting and eating. Sean ate and ate, ordering again and again even when Clint laughed and protested. But Clint ate everything Sean ordered for him, his cheeks flushed with laughter and wine.

  When they finally left the restaurant, the waiter having received what was probably the biggest tip of his life, Sean and Clint were pleasantly tipsy, drowsy with having eaten too much. Sean was groaning, clutching his stomach.

  Clint couldn’t stop laughing. “Who told you to order the cheesecake?”

  Stomach aching too much to argue, Sean made a face in response. “You ate it all,” he mumbled.

  Clint grinned, taking the keys from the valet. He bundled Sean in, who was still complaining about his stomach loudly. Clint slid into the driver’s seat, rolling his eyes affectionately. “You’re like a baby.”

  Sean ignored him. His stomach really was aching and he was starting to get a little nauseous. He closed his eyes, trying to control himself, breathing through his nose. Clint was driving and the movements of the car were only making his nausea worse.

  He squeezed his eyes with his fingers, trying to think of anything but the overwhelming need to vomit. The car ride went quicker than he expected, probably because it was so late that there was hardly any traffic.

  “What’s wrong?” Clint asked worriedly as he pulled into Sean’s long driveway.

  Sean shook his head. He needed a bathroom right now. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He unlocked the front door with shaking fingers, desperate not to empty his stomach contents on the threshold. As soon as he got it open, he left unlocking the alarm to Clint and rushed to the nearest bathroom.