Medley

by Layla Reyne

  Which was what? The answer was out, spoken, the moment Jacob thought it. “Stay.”

  Bas froze, hand fisting the thick velvet curtain. “Jacob.”

  Grip tightening at his name in Bas’s rough, rumbling voice, Jacob closed his eyes, craving the fantasy for real. He shouldn’t ask. It was too much, more than Bas had offered. He asked too much and people left. But maybe he could ask for less than the entire fantasy, just enough of what he needed. “You don’t have to do anything. I just don’t . . .” God, how did he ask this and not sound like a loser?

  The curtain rattled closed, and Jacob’s heart sank, sure Bas had left. But it rocketed into his throat when, a second later, Bas, in his deep voice, asked, “What do you need, Jacob?”

  “I don’t want to be alone.”

  Bas’s hand fell gently on his back, a shot of warmth right where it’d concentrated earlier as he’d sat in the chair. “I’m here,” Bas said.

  Heat purled, arrowing in a direct line from Bas’s hand to Jacob’s dick. Jacob wrangled himself free of his boxers and resumed pumping, harder and faster, so close to the edge as the fantasy revived behind his eyelids.

  And spiraled.

  Bas’s powerful thighs driving against his. His big wide chest blanketing Jacob’s back. Cheek to cheek, blond dreadlocks falling loose around their faces. Bas’s cock in his ass, where no one else had been before, and his calloused hand around Jacob’s dick, fingers entwined, jerking him off together.

  “Let go,” Bas commanded softly.

  Jacob came, a whimpered “Sebastian” tumbling from his lips.

  Nine.

  That was how many times Jacob had started and discarded whatever he was writing at the desk, only to try again after a lap around their room and some piecemeal packing. It’d been two hours since they’d left Alex and Dane’s room, and while Bas had finished one sketch and started another, the pup had little to show for all his nervous energy. Not that Bas hadn’t been as bad last week after the gonzo press conference, waiting for Alex’s call.

  Propped against the headboard, Bas tracked a tenth ball of crumpled paper as it whizzed past, missing the trash can by a mile. The pup’s aim was as bad as his hair, even if they both made Bas smile. It’d been a week since Media Day, the night before which Bas had fixed Jacob’s half-shaven head, buzzing the entire thing. Now, fuzzy blond hair was growing back, unevenly, making Jacob look like a Chia Pet in progress.

  Bas tossed his graphics tablet aside and swung his legs off the bed. “All right, Pup, let’s go.”

  Jacob froze mid-lap. “Go where?”

  Bas grabbed the electric clippers off the table between their beds. “Bathroom,” he said. “We need to fix your hair before we leave.”

  “But we’re flying out of Houston. No press there.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it.” Bas nudged him toward the bathroom. “And regardless, I’m not letting you go out in public like that.”

  Jacob glared over his shoulder, almost running into a wall. “You let me go out in public last night, to the food trucks with Dane and Alex.”

  “After I told you to put on that raggedy-ass UT baseball cap.”

  “Some mate you are.” Plopping down on the toilet, Jacob shrugged out of his T-shirt part way, one long arm getting caught in the collar. “Arrrgh!”

  Laughing, Bas helped him the rest of the way out of the shirt, coaching himself not to linger on his teammate’s tan skin and lean muscles. This was like any other day on deck or in the locker room; it wasn’t like that night a week ago in the cozy tattoo parlor. He shouldn’t have indulged himself then, but Jacob wrecked with lust—pupils blown wide, skin flushed, erect cock in hand, and the dimples at the base of his spine calling Bas’s name—had been beyond beautiful, like a work of art Bas couldn’t turn away from. And when Jacob had begged him to stay, it’d tugged like a magnet at Bas’s insides. The same way the pup’s pirate quips, goofy hair, and refusal to admit what had him tied in nervous knots drew Bas to him tonight.

  After plugging in the clippers, Bas flipped them on, and their low, steady buzz filled the room. He skated the clippers over Jacob’s scalp, hand trailing to brush away loose hairs and lift any stragglers. Jacob shivered on the first pass, tension tightening his spine and shoulders, but as Bas continued the repetitive motions, Jacob’s spine and shoulders curled forward, his entire body swaying with each pass of the blades.

  When he was good and relaxed, all the nervous energy wrung out of him, Bas began to dig, carefully. “You wanna tell me what’s got you worked up?”

  “Worked up?” Jacob mumbled, half in a daze.

  “You lapped the room nine times and made a mess of your luggage in the process. All two bags of it.”

  Jacob’s swaying stopped, as did his responses.

  Bas tried another avenue. “What were you writing?”

  “Notes,” he answered, defiant green eyes flickering up at Bas.

  Bas pressed anyway. “You were fine when we were in Alex and Dane’s room.”

  “Too busy stuffing my face with BBQ.” After a moment, he added quietly, as if to speak the words would risk them coming true, “What if the Committee doesn’t reinstate him?”

  Earlier that day, Alex and Dane had returned to San Antonio with evidence that Alex had been framed by another teammate for doping. A lawyer’s kid, Bas thought the exculpatory evidence looked pretty damn convincing—Coach Hartl had agreed—but ultimately the US Olympic Committee would make the call. Hopefully they’d make it before the team was scheduled to fly out of tomorrow. Bas wanted his best friend and captain on that flight with them, but he had to be prepared for the worst-case scenario. And Jacob should be too.

  “If he’s not reinstated,” Bas said, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth, “then someone else will swim in his place.” The aftertaste was worse.

  “But Ryan was Alex’s backup,” Jacob countered.

  Ryan, their individual medley champ and Alex’s backstroke and medley relay backup, had been the one who’d framed Alex, angling for his spot in both events.

  “Coach will sub in other swimmers, like he did in practice today.”

  “And the medley relay?” Jacob’s voice pitched higher, his shoulders tight again. “We sucked without him in practice today.”

  “We’ve got a week until Madrid,” Bas said, reassuring himself as much as Jacob. “We’ll make it work.”

  “What if we can’t? What if the subs aren’t the problem?”

  Confused, Bas turned off the clippers and set them aside. “What other problem is there?”

  “Me.”

  For as soft as Jacob’s voice actually was, it rang as loud as the starting horn at a meet to Bas, slamming into him and kicking his instincts into action. At a meet, he’d launch off the block into the pool. Here, in this tiny hotel bathroom, he dropped to his knees in front of Jacob. “Is that what’s got you nervous?”

  Chin tucked, Jacob angled his face away, gnawing at his lower lip. “I haven’t been doing this as long as you guys.”

  “Doesn’t mean you’re not the best.” Cautiously, as he’d seen Jacob do before, Bas laid his hands on Jacob’s knees and waited for Jacob to give him his eyes again. “You have a new national record to show for it.”

  Jacob lifted a hand, a single finger raised. “From one race.” He lowered the digit and flitted the raised hand between them. “The races before that . . .”

  “What about them?”

  He dropped his hand onto his thigh, just out of Bas’s reach. “I couldn’t pull out the win. I choked.”

  Bas slid his hand forward, covering Jacob’s. “Or you didn’t know how to win yet. You’ve won now. You just have to keep winning.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  His small, anxious voice tugged again at Bas’s insides. So did the question Jacob wouldn’t ask; Bas heard it all the same. “We’ll show you how.”

  Jacob’s answering smile was wobbly and tired. Bas could continue to push this, or
he could let it go and try taking Jacob’s mind off his worries. Perhaps he needed that more than a confidence boost tonight.

  Bas stood, unplugged the clippers, and wrapped the cord around the handle. “I heard about this supposedly awesome pirate show on TV.”

  Head falling back, Jacob looked up at him with unconcealed relief. And delight. “Black Sails?”

  “That’s the one.” Bas smiled as he stepped back, making room for Jacob to stand. “Was thinking I might check out an episode or two. Decide if I wanted to download more for the flight tomorrow.”

  “Aye, matey, nothing supposed about it. You’re definitely going to walk that plank.” Smile surer now, Jacob ran a hand over his freshly shorn head and turned toward the shower. “Cue it up while I rinse off.”

  Wandering back into their room, Bas ignored the running water and images that teased his subconscious. He’d done right by his team and Jacob tonight. If he could just keep doing right the next two weeks, the medley relay gold would be in their grasp.

  Doing right got harder the next morning, in more ways than one.

  Jacob had fallen asleep next to Bas, in Bas’s bed, halfway through the second episode of Black Sails. Bas had thought it best to let him sleep rather than risk a return of his earlier nerves. During the night, they’d drifted toward each other, an increasing force of habit, the need to be near each other almost instinctual. Bas knew he should put a stop to it. Christ, even Alex had noticed.

  But still Bas indulged.

  Like he had in the tattoo parlor a week ago. That night, he’d rationalized his actions as returning the favor, giving Jacob what he needed after the pup had done the same for him. He’d made a similar rationalization last night; he hadn’t wanted to wake Jacob.

  This morning, though, there was no rationalizing the hour Bas lay awake in bed, holding Jacob tucked against his side, half sprawled across his chest, Jacob’s cock digging into his thigh. No rationalizing the near-overwhelming urge to roll over and cover Jacob’s inviting mouth and warm body with his own. That was nothing but pure desire, pure want, for the impressive young man Bas was getting to know and like better every day.

  But acting on his impulses wouldn’t be good for anyone. Not for the team and most of all not for Jacob. History—his own and that of the other men in his family—dictated it wouldn’t end well for the pup. Bas had promised Alex he wouldn’t fuck things up this time—that he’d look out for the rook—and with Alex’s spot on the team in jeopardy, it was even more imperative that Bas keep his promises.

  Which was why, when Jacob started to wake and every part of him stiffened—Bas would bet with surprise and embarrassment—Bas closed his eyes and deepened his breathing, feigning sleep. What followed was a serious test of restraint, fighting his desire . . . and laughter.

  “Shit!” Jacob cursed low as he scooted out from under Bas’s arm and toward the side of the bed. The sheet went sliding with him, then with a muffled “oof” and a thump, the sheet disappeared altogether. Bas peeked through his eyelashes, making sure Jacob wasn’t hurt. It was last night’s T-shirt incident all over again. Tangled on the floor, Jacob was fighting with the sheet like his life depended on it; how someone with so little control over his limbs was also a world-class swimmer remained a mystery. Bas had to bite his tongue and claw the mattress to keep from shaking with laughter. A string of quiet, sailor-worthy curses later, Jacob finally freed himself, and Bas snapped his eyes closed, still pretending to sleep as Jacob tossed the sheet back over him.

  Peeking again after a moment, Bas watched him scurry across the three feet to his bed, tripping over his shoes and tumbling onto the mattress. Jacob smothered a groan in his pillow, and Bas had to roll the other way, toward the wall, to smother a laughing groan of his own.

  He was halfway back to sleep when someone knocked on their door. Rolling over, he caught Jacob’s confused eyes before they darted away.

  “I’ll get it,” Bas said, climbing out of bed. Down the short hallway, he opened the door to a hassled-looking Coach Hartl.

  He held out an airplane ticket envelope, printed with the same logo as the one in Bas’s messenger bag. “You want to do the honors?”

  Bas flipped it open and read the passenger’s name. “Fuck yeah!” he answered, pumping his fist in the air.

  “Figured you might.” Coach clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna grab a couple hours of sleep before we leave. You fools be on the bus at one.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bas closed the door and fell back against it, smiling wide. “Hey, Pup!” he shouted into the room.

  Pink-cheeked, eyes downcast, Jacob appeared around the corner. “What’s going on?”

  “Throw on some sweats! We’ve got good news to deliver.” He held the ticket aloft. “Captain’s back.”

  Jacob’s big green eyes shot up, finally meeting his. “Alex is cleared?”

  “Things are looking golden, Pup.”

  He allowed himself one more indulgence, soaking in the toothy smile that split Jacob’s face.

  Jacob threw his jacket and tie over a kitchen chair and tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, loosening the top button for some relief from the stifling heat. He dug the pad of hotel-branded paper out of his pocket, and tossed it to his cousin. “I’ve written everything down on there.”

  He’d finally finished writing out the notes this morning, after they’d given Alex the all-clear news. “I also typed and emailed them to you,” he added, acknowledging his own chicken scratch.

  Josh rolled his eyes, the same light green shade as Jacob’s. “Yeah, cuz, I got ’em.” He tossed the notepad on the kitchen counter, then reached out and knuckled Jacob’s head. “What the fuck happened to your hair?”

  “Now you’re complaining? You nagged me all last semester to”—Jacob curled his fingers in air quotes and lowered his voice to match his cousin’s deeper register—“cut that fucking mop off.”

  Josh grinned. “Maybe now you’ll get laid.”

  “Or better yet, I can pretend to be you,” Jacob replied, wiping the grin off his cousin’s face. “I’ll definitely get laid, then.”

  People already mistook them for brothers. Born on the same day, their fathers brothers, they’d been treated as twins their entire lives, right down to the similar names. Jacob’s shaggy hair and Josh’s bigger build and deeper voice had been the few things that’d distinguished them. Those and Josh’s utter coolness versus Jacob’s utter . . . uncoolness. Now, though, with Jacob’s hair buzzed and the extra muscle mass he’d put on in Olympic training, they really did look like twins. On the surface at least.

  “I like this idea. Mooching off your cred for a while.” Jacob loosened another button on his dress shirt, going for cool, on both counts. When that didn’t work, on either count, he embraced his inner dork and opened the freezer door, sticking his head inside.

  “Fuck this shit,” Josh grumbled. “You’re going to trash my cred.”

  Jacob gestured at his buzz cut again. “You asked for it.”

  “I meant going around sticking your head in freezers, goofball. As for the hair, why’d you do it?”

  Jacob pulled his head out of the cold, finally a bit more comfortable. “Easier to deal with. Training, travel, and all that.” More like he’d been hazed—one side of his dirty blond curls shaved off the first night of Olympic training in Colorado Springs. He’d played team sports long enough to have expected it, especially since he was the youngest member on the team, but the morning after had been brutal, the altitude in Colorado Springs compounding his margarita-fueled misery. To hear tell it, more hazing awaited him in Madrid.

  Bas had shaved the other half of his head before Media Day, then touched it up again last night, distracting Jacob from what had really been racking his nerves, at least initially. The topic he was trying to have a serious conversion about with his cousin, head in fridge notwithstanding.

  He tapped a finger on the notepad. “His doctor’s numbers and the clinic’s emergency number are all
on here and in the email. Plus his list of meds. A couple will need to be refilled before I get back. Make sure he gets them. And I wrote some tips and tricks for calming him, in case he has a flashback.”

  “Tell him to breathe, remind him it’s a flashback, ground him in the present using his senses.” Josh clasped the side of Jacob’s neck, his hold sure, his bright eyes alert and sympathetic. Under all that swagger, Josh was one of the most dependable, most devoted people Jacob knew. “Chill, cuz. This ain’t my first rodeo watching out for your dad while you’re at a meet. And Uncle D hasn’t had a flashback in two years. Not since we been at UT.”

  “Austin’s an hour and a half away. I could get here, if I needed to.”

  “And you haven’t needed to.” He pointed out the kitchen window at the house across the street. “Mom and Dad live right there. I’m home for the summer, right there. I’m the one getting a degree in psychology and working at the VA hospital. We got this.”

  Head bowed, Jacob scuffed the floor with his dress shoe, staring at the black streak it left on the fading linoleum. “I’ve never been gone this long.”

  “Or this far.” Josh squeezed his neck, forcing his gaze back up. “I think this is more about you than Uncle Davis.” They might not have been brothers, technically, but Josh was his best friend and knew him better than anyone. “How have things been, you know, other than the hair?”

  Shaking off Josh’s hold, Jacob rested back against the tile counter, fingers curled over the rounded lip. “It’s been wild, and it’s barely started.”

  “Yeah, I saw your two teammates on SportsCenter. At the airport . . .”

  “Some scene, huh?”

  When Dane and Alex had returned yesterday, reporters had been waiting for them at the airport. Dane, the consummate showman, had given them one hell of a spectacle. He’d pledged to clear Alex’s name and to stand by the man he loved. Big news for the supposedly straight poster boy son of high-profile conservative parents. Jacob hadn’t been all that surprised; the tension between Dane and Alex had been simmering from day one of training.