by R J Scott
He was by my side in an instant, casually putting himself between me and Mikhail, holding my hand.
“Petrov, you fucker,” he said with a smile in his voice, and held out a fist to bump.
“Lockhart,” Mikhail said, and bumped him back. “You still got one past me.”
“Stan has vodka out,” Adler said, and Mikhail’s face brightened, and within seconds it was just the two of us left in the kitchen. The huge kitchen that felt way too small.
“Come on,” Adler said. He tugged my hand and went through a laundry room that had another door that opened into the front hall. From there he led me up the stairs, then seemed to consider which room he needed.
“I’m not doing this,” I said, and tugged at his hand. “We’re not getting off in Stan’s place.”
He gave me a look that said I was being an idiot and opened a door with a flourish. As soon as we stepped inside, he shut us in and walked to the wide patio doors, which he opened enough for the winter air to rush in. I inhaled in one greedy gulp and took the blanket that Adler handed me. He’d taken it from the bed, and it was thick, like a comforter.
“I stayed here one night before a game, when Apollo was away. Needed the company. How awesome is this room?”
The question was rhetorical, but I nodded and gave him a smile. I was tense, and hated feeling that way.
“This way,” he said, and pulled me out onto the small patio, taking his own blanket. The night was inky black, and there wasn’t a view as such, just the mass of trees that screened this beautiful house from the road. But the air was clear, and cold, and I needed the open space. We sat on recliners next to each other, and he moved his closer so we could lean on each other.
In silence, we sat for the longest time, until the fear in my chest subsided and all was left was absolute peace.
Adler did that for me.
And right there and then, I knew I’d fallen in love.
So he needed to know everything. It wasn’t fair that this thing we had happening between us should keep going when I had all these secrets inside me.
I cleared my throat. “So, when I was seventeen I was dating this boy on the football team. Oliver, his name was. He was a catch—you know, a jock. Not out, but still he looked at me and saw something he wanted, and I was flattered. I was a typical nerd—big on math, bound and determined to be the first of my siblings to go to college. I fell big time for Olly, and in my head it was hearts and flowers.”
Adler unwrapped a hand from his blanket and reached over, finding my hand in the folds of my cover and holding it tight. A brief rush of cold was a welcome balm for my overheated skin.
“I’m here,” he murmured, but he didn’t need to say a thing. He was by my side, but he was also buried deep in my heart, where I sometimes imagined I would like to keep him forever.
“He was part of the bullying I had to go through on a daily basis, but I ignored that because he would give me these secret smiles, like he didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“Shit.”
“Things went bad quickly. Word got out that he wasn’t into girls as much as he needed to be—you know the sort of pressure jocks are under at school, right?”
“Yeah, but why do I feel like you’re excusing this Olly guy for something?”
I squeezed his hand. “I’m not. It wasn’t his fault, not really, but what his friends did… that was something else altogether. I was at a party; they spiked my drink. I woke up naked and on the side of the road. I don’t remember what happened. I went home.” Such a simple story for what had been a treacherous walk along a highway to my home.
I stopped, because it hadn’t been that simple. When I’d woken up I’d been covered in blood from various cuts, there had been more than enough evidence that I’d been raped, and there had been photos of me on my phone, which they’d left next to me. I hadn’t seen them until three days after the incident, when I’d finally charged the phone. Not enough of them had showed who had hurt me, just that it hadn’t been only one person.
“Please…” Adler said, his voice thick with emotion. Was he saying I should carry on or stop? I didn’t know. So I carried on, because I’d started now, and this needed saying.
“My brother found me in the front yard, took me inside, and I don’t remember a lot of what happened. The cops came, took my statement, took samples. A doctor was called, I was torn, and the shame of it all… like I was a piece of meat everyone wanted to test and poke at.” I couldn’t go on for a second, and I glanced sideways at Adler, wondering what I would see.
Naked anguish and eyes bright with tears. I’d put that intense feeling there, and I felt so sorry that I was doing this to him, but he needed to know it all before what we had could go any further.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice broken.
“There wasn’t enough to accuse anyone. I didn’t have any memories. There was Rohypnol in my system, and I was over reasonable alcohol limits, although I don’t recall drinking much. The cops tried—there were even some photos, but nothing helpful. When they finally found someone, a friend of Oliver’s, he denied everything and was acquitted. I finished school at home, left for college, and I only go back for holidays.”
“Jesus, Layton.”
“So there you go, you know it all now. I freeze up when you touch me sometimes, you’ve seen it, and I know that I have some sense memory of what happened in my head. I’ve seen counselors, worked through it, and I knew that one day I’d find a man who would make me feel I wanted to fix myself.” I turned to look at him again. “I love you, Adler.”
I waited for a response—some words to reassure me, or reasons why he couldn’t love me. How fucked was I that I couldn’t imagine anything between those two extremes?
I think he knew I needed words, but he seemed at a loss for what to say, so he leaned over and kissed me. Then softly, nothing more than a whisper on my lips, he murmured the words I needed to hear.
“I love you too.”
Those simple words promised everything; understanding, support, love.
And that was enough.
Fourteen
Adler
Lots of people say lots of things about Adler Lockhart, most not good, and rightfully so. I know I can be an ass at times. Words fall out of me before I think about what they are or how they might impact someone. But sometimes… every once in a proverbial blue moon… I say the right thing at the right time. Me telling Layton that I loved him in return, yep, that was one of those right thing and right time deals. Mark it down, folks. It probably won’t happen too consistently. And not to toot my own horn, but what I did after we had that icy-cold moment of amazing was freaking stellar as well.
I took Layton to his place, because we needed to roll around in the fluffy greatness that was being in love with each other alone. I love Apollo, but knowing he’s pitter-pattering around while I’m trying to sex it up with my man isn’t conducive to romance. And tonight I was all about the romance. Layton was quiet, vulnerable, and I did my best to keep my inner setter on a short leash. While I wanted to leap on him, knock him down on the ground and lick his face for about eight hours, that wouldn’t fly. He needed a calmer lover tonight. He needed his lover to stroke and whisper soft words. He needed his lover to simply adore him. And that was what I planned to do for as long as he would let me.
We’d just gotten our coats off when I moved to his stereo. I popped out the last CD in the player, one of mine, and replaced it with one of his. When I turned, he had one fine dark eyebrow creeping up his forehead.
“I thought we were going to make out a bit,” he said. I nodded, then reached behind me to adjust the volume down a bit.
“We are. I’m going to show you just how much I love you.” I tugged my shirt over my head and dropped it to the floor.
“So you can have sex without that 80s power ballad CD rattling the windows? Good to know.” A teasing smile lifted one side of his mouth.
“Well, this won’t be the same a
s something from Cinderella, but I’ll manage,” I tossed out as “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons rolled out of the speakers. He’d just burned this CD the other night while I’d been reading some old autobiography about Mario Lemieux. “Come on over here.”
He moved to me slowly but not hesitantly, which was great. He trusted me. Nothing had ever made me feel more important than that. Being rich or a reasonably famous athlete didn’t even come close. Knowing that this man trusted and loved me? Hell, that made me glow inside. As I reached for him, I hoped he could see the love I felt for him radiating from me. Maybe if he couldn’t see it, he could feel it. I gently wrapped him in my arms, nuzzling his long neck as he settled into my embrace.
“You’re so perfect here, Layton,” I whispered over his jugular.
He wiggled closer, eager to press his erection into my hip bone. A soft moan left my lips. My hands skimmed his ribs, then danced over his lower back, settling on his firm ass. As much as I wanted to jerk him into me or throw him onto the couch, I did neither of those things. I wanted no trace of those fear feelings that crept up over him at times.
His reply was to run his hands over my chest. His fingers roamed over my pectorals. I just held his ass loosely, no pressure, allowing him to touch and gyrate as he wished. His hands went everywhere as we stood there in his living room, swaying ever so gently to Sia’s “Bird Set Free” which flowed into my consciousness, the lyrics a perfect representation of this man pressing soft kisses to my jaw as he melted in my arms.
“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, with a nip to my neck that made me weak and wanton.
He led and I followed, my fingers between his. His tidy bedroom was familiar now. I’d spent all kinds of time there of late, rolling around with him, getting off with him, whispering under the covers with him. Layton turned and pulled me to him. He unzipped my pants, slid them down my legs, and helped me step out of them. He wiggled my briefs down over my hard-on, then to my ankles, balancing me as I stepped out one foot at a time then peeled off each sock, his gaze flickering over my body, touching everywhere.
“You okay so far?” I asked. He took me in hand. My cock leaped at his touch.
“Let’s go to bed,” he repeated, his voice as smoky as a wood fire.
He tugged me along to the wide bed by my cock, his eyes now locked with mine. We fell onto the silvery-blue comforter with him still gripping my prick. I threw my arms out to the sides and let Layton do what he wanted to me. I was his, and I wanted him empowered and eager and totally into this moment between us. He slid over me, fully dressed, and lowered his mouth to mine. Then he began teasing in that way that only he could. It was tempting beyond measure. He repeatedly flicked out his tongue along the seam of my mouth until I whimpered. Then he kissed me passionately, his hands fisted on either side of my head, his cock rolling over mine in a steady rhythm that was just this side of torture.
“Sweet shit,” I gasped when he broke the kiss and began working my neck with his teeth. Tender little bites that made me squirm and hiss. He nibbled one nipple then the other, sucked a bit of belly skin between his nice white teeth and suckled, then came back to my mouth. He did that several times.
“Layton, God.”
“You okay?” he asked between sucking bites along my hip bone. My cock rested by his cheek. All he’d have to do was turn his head to suck my dick into his mouth. My hips flicked upward as I tried to entice him to do just that.
“Are you?” That was paramount.
“Yeah, I’m loving this. I love you.” His pewter eyes locked with mine. I fisted the bedding as I fought the need to toss him onto his back and get inside him. That might never happen, and I was cool with it. More than cool with it. Still, the instinctual drive to bury myself deep within the person I loved was always kicking around in my skull unbidden.
“Love you too.”
He slithered from the bed and stripped. I watched, my fingers wound in his bedspread, my heart thudding against my ribs, and my cock ready for whatever he wanted from it. When he was nude, he stood at the edge of the bed, looking at me, the head of his prick slick with precum.
“Can you slide around?” He made a circular motion with his finger.
I slid so fast it was a wonder sparks didn’t fly from my ass as it zoomed across his comforter. He dropped one knee beside my ear. His dick bounced off my nose. I tried to give it a quick lap, but it bobbed out of tongue-reach.
“Oh shit, Layton, this is… I can’t do words about how glorious this is right now,” I said as he settled over me, his mouth dropping over my cock as his prick grazed my cheek. “Ah fuck,” I groaned as hot and wet surrounded me.
I turned my head and sucked the head of his cock into my mouth. His body trembled as he pulled in a shaky breath around my prick. He sucked roughly, getting me to the edge in no time. I had to get him there too, fast, because this had to end with both of us hitting a climax at the same time. I ran my index finger through the spittle coating his cock, then pressed into his ass, just to the first knuckle.
He mumbled something, but since his mouth was full of my dick, what he said was hard to understand. Didn’t matter. I knew he liked what was going on, because he pressed back onto that finger and rotated his hips. A few taps of his prostate, and he was there on the cusp with me. He pulled off when my ass left the bed, and finished me by hand. I grabbed one sweet ass cheek and pulled him downward, choking a bit when he bucked and pumped during his orgasm.
“Ah, ah, oh hell…” Layton gasped as he continued to stroke me, milking every drop before stopping.
I spent all kinds of time cleaning off his cock with my tongue before he tossed a leg over my head and flopped to the bed on his back. I lay there winded for a second, then pushed up and looked at him. His eyes were closed, his chin and chest laced with semen. He looked utterly blissed out.
“This is the best New Year ever.”
I scrabbled around on the bed. He cracked an eye open to see what I was doing. “You think so?” I asked before I dropped down beside him and ran a finger through a few dots of spunk drying on his chest.
“I know so.”
That made me incredibly happy. “I’m crazy in love with you, Layton.”
He threw his arms around my neck and kissed me with wild passion. “You have to be crazy to be in love with me. I’m a fucking train wreck, Ad.”
“Good thing we work for the Railers, then. See what I did there? Railers and trains and… sorry. Really sorry, the bad joke filter slipped or something.”
He blinked at the stupidity of my comment. Then he laughed, and it was the most glorious thing I’d ever heard. Well, right after the sound of him saying he loved me, of course.
When I woke up the next morning, Layton was tight to my back, his arm resting on my hip, one leg between mine. It was so nice I just rested there for a few minutes, enjoying the weight of him pressed to me as well as the smell of sex and man that filled the bedroom. The alarm on my phone went off. Cursing under my breath, I slithered out from under him, found my cell in my pants pocket, and turned the damn thing off.
“Maybe June sometime,” Layton mumbled. I snorted, tossed the covers over his tempting body, and jumped into the shower.
I had morning skate in about two hours, and a game tonight. Then we were jetting up to Boston to play Brady Rowe and his big, bad boys. Tennant was all kinds of pumped. After the Boston game, we’d jump to Pittsburgh for the first of a back-to-back that would find us playing in Harrisburg the next night against Pittsburgh again. Knowing I’d be gone for the best part of a week, I wanted to make sure this morning was extra special, to match the extra-specialness of last night.
I decided to cook.
It couldn’t be that hard, right? I mean, you just throw eggs into a pan and toss some bread into the toaster. Voila! Breakfast. It wasn’t like I was making something fancy like Apollo made all the time. I hustled around, because time was key. I had to get home, grab a suit, and haul it to the barn. Maybe I should bring some
clothes over here. I pondered on that as I slapped some butter into a pan that I’d found in the dishwasher. Just a couple of suits and some casual stuff. I was here just about all the time and this running home for clean underwear was a pain in the ass. I’d think on it while on the road.
The butter in the pan sizzled. “Cool,” I muttered, then went to my phone for some tunes. I was feeling all kinds of great, so no soft or sad shit. Rick Astley blasted forth and all was good in the world. I danced across the kitchen as Rick pledged never to give his girl up. Dropping four slices into the toaster, I sang along with Rick, because I felt the same way. I’d never make Layton cry, or lie to him, or say goodbye to him.
“The butter’s burning,” Layton shouted over Rick.
I spun from the toaster. He nodded his rumpled head at the stove. I stopped dancing and grinned.
“You look amazing this morning,” I told him.
A shy smile tugged at his lush mouth. Wearing nothing but some baggy lounge pants that rode low on his lean hips, the man was the picture of disheveled, well-loved sexiness. And fuck me, but that thin line of dark hair leading into his waistband was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. I needed to lick it.
“Thanks. The butter is still burning.”
I threw the frying pan a look. Smoke was curling upward.
“And that’s not good?”
Layton rolled those gray eyes theatrically, then pattered to the stove and turned down the flame. Robert Palmer started singing. I wiggled my way to the man at the stove, kissed him on the back of the neck, then slipped my arms around him.
“I’m all kinds of addicted to your love,” I purred by his ear as he cracked a few eggs into the brown butter in the pan. Hands on his hips, I moved him back and forth to the steady beat. He laughed again, then began moving on his own. My life could not possibly get any better.
“My mother listens to this type of music,” he said while scrambling our eggs.