by Xenia Melzer
Chapter 11
JONATHAN STARTED to smile when he heard the soft click of the door to his and Leeland’s hotel room opening. His boy was finally here! Jonathan went to greet him, his arms opening the minute he saw Leeland’s tired expression. Even though Leeland rarely complained openly, Jonathan knew he was having a hard time, putting himself under more pressure than was—at least in Jonathan’s opinion—strictly necessary.
When Leeland flew into his arms—Jonathan would never dare to call the heavy shuffle of Leeland’s feet anything else—he picked him up immediately and carried him into the huge bedroom, where he placed his boy gently on the bed. Leeland didn’t protest when Jonathan took off his clothes, lifted him up again, and carried him into the connected bathroom, where he had already prepared a tub full of hot water and Epsom salt. Jonathan checked the temperature and opened the faucet to add some more hot water before gently sliding Leeland into the tub. He then stripped off his own clothes to follow his boy. Once they were both comfortably seated, Leeland draped against his massive chest like a puppet with its strings cut, Jonathan started tracing all the places where his boy had been hit in today’s fight. He remembered each blow as if he had received it himself, and his heart ached when he thought of the fights to come. Leeland moaned low in his throat, relaxing under the soft touch just like Jonathan wanted him to.
Watching Leeland in a serious match had both been harder and easier than Jonathan had imagined. Harder because he could barely stand seeing his precious honey being hurt—and not in the good way—and easier because he found he trusted Leeland’s skills more than he had realized. It was also heady, hearing all the praise for his boy from the mouths of strangers. More than once Jonathan had thought his chest would explode from swelling up in utter pride. Luckily their friends from Whisper had helped to keep him grounded, especially Richard and Curtis. Martin had had his hands full with Collin. The slightly scattered artist hadn’t taken well to seeing his friend getting hurt but had refused to leave the arena before the fight was over. Jonathan wondered briefly what it would take to calm Collin down and was glad it wasn’t his problem. As much as he adored Collin, the artist definitely wasn’t the kind of partner Jonathan needed.
Which brought him back to the softly snoring boy in his arms. The water was still warm enough to warrant staying in the tub for a little longer. Jonathan loathed having to wake Leeland after the stressful day he’d had. When the water finally started cooling, Jonathan reluctantly shook Leeland. Once they were out of the tub, he quickly toweled them both off before he carried Leeland back to the bed.
“Do you want a massage, or would you rather sleep?”
Leeland made a moaning sound in the back of his throat. “Both.”
Jonathan chuckled. “Okay, honey. Let me get the oil.”
He hurried to retrieve the grape-seed oil from their luggage. On his way back to the bed, he unscrewed the lid, promptly spilling some of the oil onto the carpet.
“Damn!”
Leeland turned his head lazily. “What?”
Jonathan chuckled. “I was too eager, honey. Now I have to give the carpet a massage.”
“No way!” Leeland pouted and almost convinced Jonathan that he was serious. “You can’t have an affair with that carpet. I mean, look at it, all boring brown and beige colors. That’s not for you.”
“I’m not having an affair, honey. I just have to give it a massage so the oil doesn’t go to waste. It was too expensive.”
Leeland’s left brow went up. “It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
Grinning, Jonathan pretended to kneel down. Leeland whined. The shock of possibly being denied his massage seemed to have revived his spirits.
“Jonathan! Get your ass up here! Now!”
“Aren’t we bossy today? Well, I guess you earned it. Sorry, Mr. Carpet, I’m afraid I have to cut our liaison short. My boyfriend awaits.”
Leeland just huffed indignantly, and Jonathan had to suppress a snicker. It was good to see Leeland relaxing, not only physically but mentally as well. The mattress dipped under Jonathan’s weight as he kneeled between Leeland’s spread thighs. He trickled a generous amount of oil into the cup of his left hand before letting it fall slowly on Leeland’s back. His boy’s ecstatic moan had his cock hardening in ten seconds flat. Down, boy! Jonathan scolded himself. Leeland was in no condition to have sex at the moment. The mere memory of some of the punches Carlos Scamander had landed on Leeland made Jonathan flinch. It amazed him what his boy was able to endure.
With sure, practiced movements, Jonathan started working on Leeland’s stiff muscles, eliciting a groan here and there when he found an especially tender spot. After about ten minutes, Leeland was snoring softly again. With a fond smile, Jonathan finished the massage, turned his precious boy around until he was spooning him, pulled the covers up over both of them, and reached for the light switch. It was time to get some sleep.
THEY SLEPT in until ten the next morning. Since the private plane Richard had chartered for all of them would depart at twelve, they ordered room service and used the time until their breakfast arrived to pack. Leeland was moving carefully, wincing softly now and then. Jonathan took him in his arms.
“Honey, why don’t you sit down and let me take care of our luggage? I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” He waggled his brows for emphasis.
Leeland laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Jonathan. I do feel a bit—sore.” He made a face. “I’ve forgotten how crappy you feel after a fight.”
Jonathan narrowed his gaze on Leeland. “You’ll tell me if something is wrong, won’t you?”
Leeland’s expression turned serious. “Of course, Master. I may be competitive, but I’m not stupid. Besides, I like it when you pamper me.” The last was clearly said to lighten the mood, but Jonathan knew everything he needed to know—Leeland’s use of the word “master” said it all. His boy would bring his troubles to Jonathan like he always did. Jonathan encircled Leeland in his muscular arms, breathing in the comforting scent of his boy.
“Thank you, Leeland. You can always count on me. Always.”
Leeland shuddered in his arms. “I love you, Master.”
“And I love you, boy.”
AFTER THEY had eaten their breakfast, they met Leeland’s parents, Misaki, Greg, Richard, Dean, Martin, Collin, Curtis, Peyton, and Emilio in the lobby. While their friends and family congratulated Leeland, Jonathan went to the reception desk to check out. Richard had already called three minivans to drive them to the private hangar where their plane would take off. At Martin’s request, he and Collin drove with Jonathan and Leeland. It took Jonathan only one look at Collin to know the reason. Collin was plastered against Martin’s side, his eyes huge with worry and guilt. The worry Jonathan could understand; the guilt remained a mystery.
When they entered their transport, Leeland saw to it that Collin was sitting next to him. As soon as the vehicle started to roll, Leeland turned to Collin.
“Everything all right, Collin?”
Jonathan felt his heart swell in his chest. His boy was so gentle, so considerate, sensing Collin’s distress and trying everything in his power to soothe it. Was there a Dom in history who ever had a more perfect partner?
Collin took a trembling breath, his lower lip quivering dangerously.
“I’m so sorry, Leeland. I wanted to be there for you, wanted to be strong. We’re friends, and I know how hard it is to be my friend, how weird I am, how patient you are, the things you do for me, with what you put up, but I just couldn’t watch, couldn’t see you get hurt even though I know you’re strong, that you can take it, that you know what you’re doing. I’m so pathetic. I can’t be your friend, because what friend would just close his eyes and hide in Martin’s chest while you’re out there on the battlefield?”
Collin started sobbing. Jonathan threw a curious glance at Martin. The man was clearly suffering with his sub but did nothing to soothe him. Instead he looked at Leeland, who s
imply nodded. Leeland grabbed the shaking Collin and dragged him onto his lap.
“Hey, hey, sweetie, calm down. I’d thought you know me better by now. When did I ever give you the impression you’re not exactly the kind of friend I need and want?”
Collin hiccupped against Leeland’s chest.
“Collin, do you remember when we first met? At that barbecue at Martin’s house?”
Collin nodded.
“What did I tell you back then?”
“That Tim Burton is a genius?”
Leeland chuckled. “Apart from that.”
Collin sniffled. “That we’re all crazy. That’s why we fit.”
“Exactly. Now, what makes you think your special brand of crazy is suddenly not fitting anymore?”
Collin fisted his hands in Leeland’s dark green shirt. “But I couldn’t watch!” He sounded as if this was the worst offense he could think of.
Leeland made a tsking sound. “You tried. That’s all that matters to me. Not everybody is wired the same way. You don’t like seeing me getting hurt. Actually, I like that. It means you care about me, love me. What more could I ask for?”
At those words Collin sat up. There was a sliver of hope on his tear-streaked face. It almost broke Jonathan’s heart, seeing the brilliant artist like this. Collin was way too fragile for this world. It was painfully obvious how much he needed a keeper. Jonathan glanced over at Martin, who watched the interaction between their boys with rapt attention. It couldn’t be easy, taking care of somebody as sensitive as Collin, though Martin didn’t look as if it was a hardship for him. To each their own, Jonathan thought fondly. He loved both Collin and Martin like brothers. They were a part of his extended family, and he was glad they could handle problems like this one openly.
“Me loving you is enough?” Collin still sounded timid.
Leeland kissed him on the nose. “Of course, silly. We’re good. You’ve been great ever since I started my crazy training schedule, and you saved me more than once from losing my shit because of sugar deprivation.”
At the mention of sugar, Collin turned beet red and pressed his index finger on Leeland’s lips. “Shh, that’s supposed to be a secret!” he whispered loud enough for Martin and Jonathan to hear. Jonathan raised a brow, but Leeland only shrugged.
“You haven’t heard a thing.”
With a smile, Jonathan mimicked closing his mouth off. Now that the crisis seemed to be averted, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the two subs looked together, hugging each other in a tangle of long, graceful limbs. The way Martin was adjusting his crotch none too subtly told Jonathan he was aware of it as well. Leeland shot them a knowing look before he turned his attention back to Collin.
“You just keep taking care of me like you did and everything’s perfect. I have Dean, Curtis, Emilio, and Peyton who can come to the fights. There’s no need for you to get worked up over it. That’s what having a family means—everybody does their best in their own way.”
Collin nuzzled Leeland’s neck, a happy smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “I never had a family, so I guess I’m learning while I go along. I’m glad you’re part of my family. This is great. Thank you, Leeland.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
Next to Jonathan, Martin shifted and cleared his throat. “Very well. Now, baby, do you want to sit on my lap for a bit?”
Jonathan grinned when he heard the slight strain in Martin’s voice. The imposing Dom was as troubled as he was by the sight of their beautiful boys together. Collin, as almost always, was oblivious.
“I’d rather cuddle with Leeland some more, Martin. This feels so nice.” He beamed proudly at his master, snuggling closer to Leeland, which gave Jonathan all kinds of interesting ideas, none of which could be implemented right now, much to his dismay. “I’m his family!” Collin added with a hint of pride in his voice that had Martin smiling, if a bit strained.
Over Collin’s head, Leeland stuck his tongue out at the two Doms and winked. Jonathan shared a look with Martin, and they silently agreed to make their boys pay for this later.
Chapter 12
Three months later
LEELAND SANG along to Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” on his way over to Curtis’s house. It was their boys’ night, and he was looking forward to meeting his friends. The last two times they had met, he’d been too tired. He had been in—and won—two more fights since the first one against Carlos. His ojisan, Greg, and Samantha were ecstatic, all of them doubling his workload to get the maximum out of his current high flying. As it turned out, he attracted a different clientele than the people from Smash! had initially hoped for, but they didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The blogger from his first fight, Leandra Donnell, had started following him after her blog about his fight, and the interview had been met with overwhelming interest. Apparently women did have a thing for fighting, if it was done with a certain style and came in an appealing package. Leeland always stayed true to himself, never slighting his opponents before or after a match. He was the picture of politeness and manners, and many people loved him for it—as much as others hated him. He had been given the nickname Prince because he was so different from all the other fighters with their macho posturing and openly shown violence.
Leeland wasn’t too happy about all the attention he was getting, though so far his sexual orientation hadn’t been discovered and his ojisan’s charity was thriving. After a public training session where he worked with the kids in the program, donations for Hinode had increased. Apparently Leandra’s followers—for she had hosted a live feed of the event—loved the charity. All in all, things would be going well if it weren’t for Noah Adams, Leeland’s next opponent in the octagon. Their match was scheduled in a week, and Leeland wasn’t looking forward to it. Noah Adams was the very picture of a homophobic macho who lived for insulting others and seemed to be completely ruled by his own warped perception of manliness. It was his second year in the UFC, and so far he had yet to lose a match. For reasons only plausible to Sean Shelby, Noah hadn’t fought for the championship belt last year, a fact that seemed to gnaw at him, for he did everything to get media recognition, which in turn increased his chances to get nominated for the championship fight. His tactics also included calling Leeland a sissy boy, an effeminate faggot, a spineless cocksucker, and other slurs on Twitter and his Facebook page. Disgusted by the hateful rhetoric, Leeland had stopped paying attention to the rants. He knew Samantha kept a close eye on it, but as long as Noah ranted under the guise of simply garnering attention for the match, nobody would do anything against it.
Leeland sighed. There was no such thing as bad PR. At least not in the world of UFC.
The ringing of his phone tore him from his musings. He smiled when he saw the caller ID. Pressing the button on the steering wheel that allowed him to take the call, he greeted the man on the other end of the line.
“Hello, Carlos! It’s good to hear from you.”
“Hello, Leeland. I just wanted to see if you’re good.”
Since their fight, Leeland and Carlos talked at least once a week about their training and the misery of being on an athlete’s diet. He truly liked Carlos, and Carlos seemed to take great pleasure in talking to him. Carlos’s trainer, Mason, was also his stepfather and a true dick. If he ever found out Carlos and Leeland were talking, he would probably kill them both. He didn’t believe in sportsmanship or friendship, only in winning and being the strongest, an opinion Carlos didn’t share, which led to regular fights between the two men. Thankfully Carlos had won his last two matches as well, which had mellowed Mason a bit.
“I’m very good. I’m on my way over to a friend’s house for movie night and pasta.”
Leeland grinned at the mention of Mamma’s pasta. It had taken him forever to have his ojisan and Greg concede to him eating a normal meal tonight, but he had won.
“You’re allowed pasta only one week from your next fight?” Carlos sounded disbelieving. “How did y
ou manage that?”
“I told them I’d go crazy if they didn’t let me have empty carbohydrates and bad fat.”
“And?”
“They told me to grow a pair. I did just that and pestered them until they would do anything just to shut me up.”
“Wow. Congratulations, man. I envy you. It’s another night of chicken breast and broccoli for me.”
“Sorry to hear that. Have you tried chopping your almonds, roasting them, and then putting them over the broccoli? It’s almost tasty when you do that.”
Carlos sighed. “I did. And you’re right. The broccoli is a bit better with the crunch. Unfortunately I already had my ration of nuts with my shake today. Never try to mix spinach with almond butter, by the way. It’s warfare to your taste buds.”
The gagging sounds coming through the phone had Leeland laughing. “Poor thing! And thanks for the advice. I don’t think I would have tried mixing these two, but now I definitely won’t. Tell you what, I’m going to eat some delicious white-wheat pasta with creamy sauce just thinking of you, okay?”
Carlos whined over the phone. “You’re cruel!”
“Am not!”
“You so are!”
They both started laughing and it felt good, liberating. Carlos was the first to sober up.
“I wanted to wish you good luck with your fight against Adams. Be careful. That man’s a major asshole. I’ve seen what he’s been posting, and I can’t believe the UFC is letting it happen.”
Leeland sighed. “It’s the usual posturing before a fight. Well, a little more than that, but it’s getting them attention. Attention equals screen time equals money. And let’s be honest, this isn’t about you, or me, or Adams, or even the sport. This is about money. Pure and simple.”
Leeland knew he sounded bitter, but he couldn’t help it. The world of professional sports was a toxic environment at best. Given the image the UFC had chosen for itself, it was no wonder Noah Adams’s verbal attacks were smiled upon rather than punished, as if he were an adolescent testing his limits instead of a fully grown homophobic asshole who had crossed the line into open, unfiltered hostility a long time ago. Civility and manners had no place in the UFC.