Knowing Me, Knowing You

by Renae Kaye

  He smiled. “Great. Thanks.”

  I had nodded my understanding and turned back to the book when a belated thought hit me. “Ambrose?” I called after his retreating back. “What do you need superglue for?”

  “I’m gluing all your plates to your kitchen counter as a prank.”

  Bastard. I weighed up the options. I could get up and see what he was really doing, or I could finish reading my book and then work out if I needed to panic.

  Three chapters later I decided it was time for a break. I needed coffee, so I made for the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Thankfully, there were no plates glued to the kitchen counter.

  Ambrose wasn’t in the living area or the kitchen. I peered into the laundry—nothing there either. I turned around and looked at the bathroom. The door was wide open, and I could see the toilet. I’m not sure if it’s a great house design when you can see the toilet from the kitchen, but as I lived alone, it was never an issue. It wasn’t an issue then, because the bathroom was in darkness and no one was using it. I opened the back door and looked up and down the length of the backyard. There had been a shower of rain that I hadn’t heard while I was reading, evidenced by the wet path and grass… but no Ambrose.

  Had he left?

  There was only one other room in the house. I pushed opened the door of the second bedroom and strained to look over the pile of stuff. Ambrose was sitting on the floor, his leg stretched out to the side, still in its black support while he screwed in the wheels on my misassembled filing cabinet. He had obviously disassembled it and then figured out how to put it together correctly.

  “Hey,” I said softly, to not startle him.

  He looked up. “Ta-dah.” Proudly he waved a hand over the cabinet that was lying on its side as he worked on the last bit. “What do you think?”

  “I think I want to marry you.”

  It wasn’t a lie.

  “Nope,” he said with a laugh. “First you have to get down on one knee, then you need to present me with a ring, and then I’ll think about it.”

  I chuckled like he meant me to. “But thanks, Ambrose. That looks great. I can’t believe you fixed it.”

  “Not just a pretty face,” he said with a grin.

  “Do you want a coffee?” I offered.

  I made it while he finished putting the wheels on, and then I stood the cabinet upright for him and checked it over. It was perfect. I pushed aside some boxes and wiggled it over until it stood against the wall. I would have no more reason for dodging my filing.

  “What about the desk?” Ambrose asked.

  “What desk?”

  “The one that’s still in the box over there.”

  I turned and remembered the great idea I’d had to make the room into a proper study. I shrugged. “Obviously I’m pretty crap at flat packs.”

  “Can I do it?” he asked with excitement.

  “Sure.”

  “Great. I can do that tomorrow, then.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “Tomorrow?” He was still planning on being there tomorrow?

  “Yep. Because now you’ve finished your reading, I need you to take me to the shops. I remembered I need some more pain pills, and I want to look at some new pants.”

  I recalled the stack of pain tablets he’d had the day he arrived home. “You had tons of pain pills. You can’t have taken all of them.”

  Thankfully he shook his head. “Nah. I only need the mild ones. I’m out. And more magnesium. And I want to look at some other supplements.”

  I held my tongue. He was in charge of his own body. We drove to the shop. Ambrose wore a hat and sunglasses to keep from being recognized, but it didn’t always work. I stood nearby and carried the shopping bags, and I don’t think anyone even glanced at me.

  Ambrose insisted on cooking that night, to make up for me doing chauffeur and bellboy duty, as he jokingly told me. So we ended up together in the kitchen. He couldn’t move around much due to his knee, and what was I supposed to do—stand and watch him work?

  I cleared off the table, and we sat and talked over everything—politics, weather, team forms and chances of making the finals, my lack of career goals, whether Tracy needed a boyfriend, and even Daniel’s new baby.

  I told him all about my friends—how Jamie had met Liam on his morning commute and how the romance had played out slowly as Liam made his way out of the closet, and then how Liam’s best friend, Aaron, had fallen in love with Vinnie.

  “So now we all go to Aaron and Vinnie’s house every Sunday. First we watch Liam’s brother John play football, and then we all head back for lunch.”

  “Every Sunday?” he asked. I nodded. “So, what? Eight of you?”

  “Nine guys, including me. The three couples—Jamie and Liam, Vinnie and Aaron, and Kee and Tate. Then there’s Liam’s brother John and me and Hiram. I don’t know if you remember me talking about Hiram? We used to date back, oh—” I stopped and had to count. “—must be five years now.”

  Ambrose nodded. “I think I remember.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. I kept eating until I finished the meal. Then suddenly Ambrose said, “I want to thank you for today. It was great.”

  I was shocked. “It was? We didn’t do anything.”

  He stared at his plate. “I know. That’s what I liked. It was just us hanging out. Doing normal stuff, you know?”

  “You don’t hang out and do normal stuff in Melbourne?”

  His head waggled a little bit, an indication of agreement and disagreement at the same time. “Yeah. Sometimes. Sometimes I hang with a couple of mates. But you’re… restful. I don’t have to be someone different with you.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, but I kept my mouth shut. Ambrose looked sad and finally said in the quiet, “Daniel’s got a new baby, and it’s always noisy at his house—a toddler, a baby, and his wife. If I’m hanging with Sean, he always wants to discuss the game. If the three of us head to a pub, there’s people around, and they want photos and autographs. Even when I’m training, it’s always noisy.”

  I was confused. “But you have tons of friends. I see you on social media, tagged with lots of women and out with people.”

  His head came up, and he looked me dead in the eye. “But not simply shopping. Not simply hanging around the house putting together IKEA furniture.”

  My expression turned to a knowing look. “Oh, I see. You just want me for my flat packs.”

  He laughed and reached out to put a hand on my knee. “No. I want you for so much more than that.”

  I leaned forward. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  He leaned forward too, so we were inches apart. My mouth dried as I looked at his firm lips. I could already taste them.

  “I also want you for your car.”

  It took a few seconds, but then I snorted and leaned the rest of the way forward and kissed him soundly. It was the first time I’d done that. In all our time together, I’d never been the one to kiss him first. “You wanton thing, buttering me up merely for the lifts I can give you.”

  I went to pull away and pick up the plates, but he grabbed my head and pulled me in for another kiss. “If I butter you up more, can I persuade you to do other things too?”

  Yes.

  And he didn’t even need the buttering. I pretended to play along. “Perhaps. Like what?”

  He kissed me again, that time longer. I got all sorts of ideas from the kiss, and I hardened in my pants. We were leaning awkwardly across the corner of the table, over the remains of our shared meal, and I felt like shoving all the plates to the side and offering myself up right there on the wooden surface.

  The need for sexual intimacy between us had been in the forefront of my mind the night before, but I hadn’t even thought about it all day. I was happy to just be with Ambrose. But it was roaring back, and from the way Ambrose kissed me, he felt the pull too.

  “Like perhaps you go and have a shower and get all cleaned up while I do the dishes?”

/>   Oh yes. Cleaned up would be good, because that would mean I could be ready for full sexual penetration. My dick was weeping at the thought.

  “I can do that,” I said breathlessly between kisses. “What’s in it for me, though?”

  Ambrose scooted to the edge of his chair and reached for my crotch. He found what he was looking for, and I groaned as my dick got even harder.

  “If you get all cleaned up for me, I’ll give you an autographed poster of me you can put on your wall.”

  It broke the spell, and I threw my head back and laughed. Ambrose grinned. “So I get a poster of the second sexiest guy in the AFL,” I teased. “But what do you get in return?”

  “You.”

  My smile died. “I dunno if that’s such a good trade.”

  He continued to massage my dick. “I think it is. I’d take Shane over anything.”

  “Anything?” I asked with a crook of my eyebrow. When a guy has your dick in his hand, you get a little cocky.

  “Okay, almost anything.”

  “You’d take Shane over the best-cooked T-bone steak?” I asked.

  He pretended to think about it. “Yeah. Giving up that T-bone would be hard, but I’d still take Shane.”

  “Over Sean and Daniel?” I asked. Surely he wouldn’t give up his best friends for a night in my bed.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Over Kendra?”

  “Definitely over Kendra,” he said, still moving his hand on me.

  “Over Hawthorn?”

  He drew in a breath. “Yeah. You know what? I think I’d take Shane over Hawthorn.”

  I was horrified. “Over the chance to play in the finals for the fifth time?”

  Hawthorn had had an unprecedented run for the prior four years, making the finals every year and winning three in a row.

  “Yep. Been there, done that.”

  “What about winning the Brownlow Medal?” He wouldn’t give up the Brownlow for Shane, would he? Not the medal for the fairest and best in the AFL?

  The hand on my dick froze. “Okay, you got me there. Although the Brownlow is only one night. I’d take you the other three hundred and sixty-four days.”

  I melted. “Okay then.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  WE WATCHED a movie, and then I took Ambrose into my bedroom, undressed, and went hunting for a condom. He painfully removed his knee brace and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Come on.” I gestured to him. “Clothes off.”

  He pulled off his jumper and shirt, and I sat and memorized the scene. Occasionally, just occasionally, I would remember that “Ambrose-my-old-friend” and “Ambrose-the-guy-I-loved” was also “Ambrose-the-semifamous-footballer.” He was at the peak of fitness, and he was sitting on the edge of my bed, preparing to fuck me happy.

  “What?” He frowned at me. I realized I was standing by the dresser, starkers, just watching him.

  “I’m simply having one of those moments,” I said blissfully as I threw the condom and lube on the bed next to him.

  “What moments?”

  “One of those ‘I can’t believe I have Bro-Jak in my bed’ moments. I’ve never told anyone about you, because who would believe me?”

  “You mean no one would ever mistake me for liking guys?”

  “No. I mean no one would ever believe that someone like you would want to be with someone like me.”

  Sadness crossed his features. “You have to stop putting yourself down, Shane. Come here.” It was his turn to gesture to me, and I moved forward. He grasped my hips, positioned me in front of him, and leaned in to take me in his mouth. I gasped in shock and delight. Not a lot of men stopped to do this to me.

  “Ambrose,” I groaned.

  He sucked on me for a minute and then sat back to say “To me, every part of you is perfect. You turn me on—you. And believe me when I say that not many people do.” He licked my length and then brought both hands up to hold my erection so he could lick his way around the head.

  But what he said echoed in my brain. “Not many people turn you on?” I questioned.

  He pulled off to whisper, “I told you that. Remember? I told you I don’t get the wanting to jump someone’s bones when you’ve only just met them.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t get what Ambrose didn’t get about that. How could you not get sexual attraction?

  He smiled and then licked me again. “I find I only want to do this—” He sucked at the end of my dick and I tensed at the sharp sensation. “—when I’ve gotten to know and like someone.” Then he kissed the skin above my pubic hair and then placed another kiss farther up, toward my belly button. “And I really like you. I’ve always liked you, Shane. The attraction for you has always been there. The night you told me you were gay, I wanted to take you back to my room and ask you to show me all about it.”

  I remembered that night. “I’d been crushing on you for about a year by that time,” I confessed softly. “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “It was okay. I didn’t realize what it meant at the time. I didn’t know if I was gay or what. You were the only guy who turned me on. It confused me.” He kissed my stomach and ribs and other ticklish spots he could find. “I figured people were lying about how horny they were all the time and how much sex they were having. Besides, I just wanted to play footy.”

  I brushed his forehead. Yes, that was the Ambrose I remembered. “But you went out with that basketball girl? What was her name?”

  “You mean Jodie?”

  “Yeah. That was her. I remember you getting all touchy-feely with her. Tracy even commented on how she had to have new rules in the house about girls in your room.”

  His mouth had reached my nipples. He tongued them and then blew gently on them so they pebbled in the cold. I shivered and pulled away.

  Using me for balance, he stood, and our chests brushed. I was distracted and ran my hands over his chest. Then I plunged my fingers into the elastic waistband of his trousers and pushed them off.

  “Jodie was cool. She wasn’t pushy. We had a great time.”

  I scooted my hands around to the back so I could cup Ambrose’s butt through the material of his underwear. His pants were down to his thighs, and I squeezed the globes of his arse and marveled at how hard they were.

  “You had sex with Jodie, didn’t you?”

  His hands were still on my shoulders for balance, and he moved one to cup my face. “This is really weird, talking about sex with other people just before we have sex.”

  “I simply don’t understand. I don’t understand why you feel attracted to me. Maybe if I did, it would help me.”

  He sighed and pulled back. That was not what I wanted.

  “Yes. I had sex with Jodie. But we also played a lot of basketball. It wasn’t all about the sex. I can have sex with people. It’s not like I’m asexual or impotent. I just don’t like it to be the only thing that’s between us.”

  He was getting upset, so I decided to drop the subject, which I seemed to have done around Ambrose a lot lately. I pushed his underwear down and gripped his erection. “No. I can see you’re not impotent at all.” I watched carefully and saw the stiff stance of his shoulders lessen a bit, as though he realized I wasn’t going to push the subject. I kissed his chest. “Although, I may need a little more proof on this impotency business. Do you think you could provide it?”

  His white teeth stood out against the hue of his dusky skin, made darker by the shadows in the room, since I’d only turned on the two bedside lamps.

  “I think I may need some help providing this proof,” he replied in a growly voice. It sent shivers down my spine. “I’m injured, so could do with some assistance.”

  I was more than okay with providing that assistance, so I undressed him, stripped back the covers, and urged Ambrose to lie down on the sheets. Then I attacked him.

  Okay. So not really. It just felt like it. I let my senses expand and the arousal wash over me. It was Ambrose, and he was there for me however I want
ed, because I was in charge. I was a connoisseur, an Ambrosiac, an Ambrose-aholic.

  I reached for him and ran my hands all over his body, all over his length—all over. Then I knelt on the bed beside him and let my mouth follow and taste all of that too. I sucked at his nipples, traced the lines of the snake tattoo with my fingers, licked along his ribs, inhaled deeply the scent at his hip bones, touched his pubic hair, cupped his balls, ran my tongue along the length of his cock, rubbed my cheek against his stomach, listened to the furious thump of his heart, tasted the skin under his chin, ran my thumb over the sensitive glans on his dick, and breathed wetly in his ear.

  Ambrose squirmed on the bed and called my name. Occasionally he would move in some way that obviously hurt his knee. He would freeze, his breath would catch in a painful sob, and I would immediately stop what I was doing. But Ambrose would straighten his leg again and murmur, “Don’t stop.”

  When I was within reach, he would touch me too. He explored my body with his hot hands and touched my legs, buttocks, stomach, chest, and arms—whatever he could reach. I sucked on his cock, enjoying the scent and taste as I tried to get as much as possible in my mouth. I could feel Ambrose’s broad hand on the inside of my thigh and tensed with anticipation as he ran his hand up and touched my balls. Without thinking too hard about it, I spread my legs, giving him access to the area. He rolled my testes around in their pouch, gently exploring and giving me a lot of pleasure, and then moved on to my erection.

  For long minutes we stayed that way—me sucking and licking Ambrose while he touched and massaged me. Then he slid his fingers to encircle my hole, and I jumped. Those fingers, so deft with a football at the national level, were strong and nimble. He touched lightly, then not so lightly, and pushed in with a broad digit. I had to stop sucking his dick and gasp out “Ambrose!”

  “What?” he asked as though he hadn’t done anything. Then he pushed in again.

  I dropped my head and rested my forehead against his hairy thigh. “Jesusmarymotherandjoseph.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked innocently. “This?”