by Grey Cole
“You’re my own personal Superman,” Shea pronounced finally. “I can’t believe you just did that for me.”
“I have a confession.”
“You know you can tell me anything.”
“It wasn’t just for you. I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”
Shea opened his mouth, armed with more disbelief and questions, Royce was sure, but there would be plenty of time to sort through all that. Royce silenced him with a little kiss. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”
Shea glanced down and then back up before giving him a half grin. “What about you?”
“Came like a fucking freight train,” he chuckled. “Speaking of …” Royce reluctantly eased from the bed, grabbing a pair of sweats on his way to the bathroom. “Don’t move,” he threw over his shoulder.
Royce closed the bathroom door behind himself before shimming off his pants and wiping down quickly. He snapped the band of the sweats against his hips and braved a look in the mirror, half expecting to look different. He felt different but in a good way—a freeing way—as if he’d finally owned up to exactly who he was and exactly who he needed. Running his hands through his hair, which had taken on a mind of its own during their hot make-out session, he vowed to make sure that Shea would feel just as good about the change in their relationship. He wouldn’t let Shea retreat in his head or beat himself up with self-doubt. This was a good thing, and he would ensure the man saw that.
Taking a deep breath, Royce slipped out of the bathroom and back into bed. “You’ll sleep with me.” He meant to ask that, not state it, but Shea just gave that devilish grin like that was exactly what he expected Royce to say and exactly how he had expected him to say it. He ran his thumb over Shea’s full bottom lip, still swollen from the intensity of their kissing.
When had he ever kissed someone with all-consuming need like that? Uh, never.
Giving Shea a chaste, yet lingering, kiss, he asked, “You good?”
Shea nodded and flipped over to face the wall, like he always slept. After a moment’s hesitation, Royce curled up behind him, kissed him on the neck, and again asked, “Is this okay?”
“Yeah. It’s … more than okay,” Shea answered with a light sigh.
Royce was suddenly more adamant than ever about getting some much needed sleep. He wanted to see their future with a clear head.
Chapter Three
Past: The Morning After
On any given morning, Royce would be pulling Shea out of the bed for an early morning workout or run. This morning was different in so many ways. If he hadn’t just opened his eyes and found himself staring at Royce’s wall, curling his hand in Royce’s sheet, and pushing away from Royce’s morning wood, he would have laughed in your face for suggesting that his very straight, very loyal best friend had given him a blow job last night. And not just a blow job. The blow job to end all blow jobs.
Royce Thornton. Royce Fucking Thornton. Wrapped his lips around my dick and proceeded to blow my mind. God, his very lickable, suckable, bitable lips were licking and sucking and biting almost every inch of his body last night. My body. Royce’s lips. And he wasn’t drunk enough to think he’d imagined how much Royce actually enjoyed it. That had to have been for show, though. How many times had Royce pretended to like something or prefer one thing over another for Shea’s benefit? How many times had he sacrificed the way he truly felt in order to connect with him? And how does Shea repay him? By allowing him to kiss him and make love to him, because that’s how it felt—like love, not fucking, not getting off—and all in the hopes of dashing out his disastrous night. Only one problem there—Royce didn’t love Shea the way Shea loved him.
Why? That was the million dollar question right there. Why had Royce done it? If Royce only knew how many days he’d spent fantasizing about that, he would knock the shit out of him and vacate his life on a permanent basis. Royce. The friend who stood with him through so much. The one who put up with his ridiculous idiosyncrasies. Shit, he even thought they were endearing. Who else would accept the mess that he could be? The guy who had no filter? The guy who had fucked-up views on everything from the JFK assassination to the AIDS crisis? The guy who couldn’t handle loud noises and did anything to avoid them?
And how does Shea repay that man? By letting him “fix” his stupid-ass problem in a crazy, fucked-up way. A way that was bound to change everything between them. A way that would, no doubt, cause him to lose his best friend, his constant. Shea could feel it coming on. The never-ending wave that would wash over him and drown out anything that was remotely human about him. It was so powerful that Shea was sure a day would come when only his washed-up carcass would be left in its wake. That was his greatest fear. He fought against that familiar wave of despair, knowing that if he dwelled on it, he would start to sob and the tears would probably never stop.
“I know you’re awake,” Royce breathed against Shea’s neck before running his lips over the sensitive skin behind his ear. He closed his eyes tightly and counted. One, two, three, four, five … “You’re counting, and this nothing to be nervous about. We need to talk, but I promise everything is going to be all right.” Royce’s lips ghosted over his back while his thumb circled his hipbone.
God, it felt so good. So right. And he imagined, so clearly, what it would feel like to turn and take in Royce like the man belonged to him. His thick, wavy, almost black hair. His crystal blue eyes. The sexy dimple that peeked out when he found something ironic, two appearing when he thought something was hilarious or when he was flirting. The little lines that gathered around his eyes when he was fighting a smile. Just the thought of having all that—all that made Royce so perfect in his eyes—it took his breath away.
He gasped a little at the beautiful picture his mind conjured. The one that would never be real because, while Royce may be good at pretending, Shea would never be able to do that. It would be all too real for him and all too destructive when it withered and died right before his eyes.
Resolutely, he pushed the blanket away and sprang into a sitting position. “Shit. I’m gonna be late. I forgot … I have a study group. Algorithms Analysis.” Not risking a glance at Royce, he crawled to the end of the bed, grabbed some clothes, and slinked to the bathroom. It was everything he could do not to flee, but Royce would know immediately that something was up.
Skipping a much-needed shower that he could have used to melt away all the doubts plaguing him, Shea made quick work of brushing his teeth, throwing on some deodorant, and changing his clothes. He never once looked in the mirror, not even when he splashed some water to tame his unruly curls. God, he had to get out of there and figure out what to say, how to say it, and how not to ruin his friendship.
Exiting the bathroom, he meant to make a wisecrack about Royce not having to worry about running out of hot water this morning due to their sleeping in, but he was floored by the vision before him. Royce had shed most of his clothes and stood in front of the window in only his black boxer briefs, looking the epitome of man. This is the man Michelangelo and his contemporaries would have lined up to use as their sculpting muse. Strong, chiseled, thoughtful … gorgeous—inside and out. If Shea had to list his flaws, he would be hard pressed, because what some may view as flawed, Shea saw as perfection. Maybe his controlling nature, ability to shock, and willingness to say “fuck it all” would be weaknesses in another person, but when backed up by a true heart and a deep soul, they added to the list of positive attributes the man could check off. Even though Shea was no longer the gangly teenager of his youth, he still felt scrawny compared to Royce. Only … Royce had never made him feel lacking. Royce made him feel accepted and loved and strong.
Clearing his throat, he could feel Royce’s attention shift to him, even though Shea couldn’t meet his eyes. He was terrified Royce would see everything. And everything could get him into a shitload of trouble. “So, I just wanted to say I appreciate what you did for me last night.”
“Appreciate
?”
“Yeah, you know, thanks.”
“Thanks?”
“Taking one for the team and all that. It was a nice thing to do.”
“Taking one for the team?”
“Macaw.”
“Macaw?”
“Just testing the echo.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Shea?”
“Nothing. Look, it was nice. And I appreciate it. I’m sorry you felt the need to, uh, do that, but I’m good, and I’m hoping we can just forget it.”
“Forget it?”
“Fucking stop that.” His eyes inadvertently flew to Royce’s in his anger, only to register genuine confusion before he glanced away again. “Are you trying to piss me off? Don’t answer that. I gotta go.” He grabbed his bag, which, thankfully, was still packed from yesterday, and hauled ass out of the room, throwing a “No, thanks,” over his shoulder at Royce’s offer to walk him to his study group. God, he really had gone and fucked things up. Royally. How in the hell were they supposed to get past this? I’m an idiot. Not just once, but twice, in one fucking night, I proved I have shit for brains.
Chapter Four
Past: Define Relationship
“Where the fuck have you been?” Shea roared at him.
“Calm your tits,” Royce slurred. “Been right here. Well¸ after the bar. But then right here.” He giggled. Whoa! What the fuck? He didn’t giggle. Oh yeah, Royce meet Johnnie Walker. Royce, Johnnie. They had become quite well acquainted over the last few hours. For someone who rarely drank more than a few beers, he felt immense pride in the fact that not only had he managed to find his way home after a few drinks, but he had also avoided passing out after finishing off his ill-gotten bottle. He had never been an advocate of drinking to numb emotions, but when one is faced with the imminent demise of the best thing that’s ever happened to him, well … fuck it.
He thought back to the painful way that Shea had ignored him all day and then again at the party that night. After his texts and calls throughout the day went unanswered, he’d been excited to finally see him. And all he’d done was tried to run his thumb along Shea’s forearm, and the man had jolted like a skittish horse faced with a riding crop. As his eyes darted to Royce’s, for the first time in the two plus years they’d known each other, Royce could not read him. He couldn’t tell if it was denial, disgust, or anger. He’d abandoned the party shortly after that, stopping by the bar caddy corner to their end of campus, indulged in a few drinks, and plied the bartender with lots of cash for an unopened bottle that he’d shoved in his jacket before making his way back to the dorm.
“Are you even listening to me?” Shea snapped, mere inches from his face.
Apparently not, because he hadn’t heard a word Shea had said. All he knew was that he wanted to bridge the small gap between them with his lips, which is exactly what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Better to swallow and choke on his desire—his need—for the other man. Shea obviously didn’t return his more amorous feelings, and Royce needed to do what he had to in order to salvage their friendship. More than anything, he knew he couldn’t live without that. An image of Shea lost in the moment and his quiet moans from last night flitted across his vision, making Royce groan. Those were exactly the kind of thoughts he needed to divest himself of.
“Royce, you’re really freaking me out,” Shea breathed.
Royce finally allowed himself to focus on Shea and not the conflicting thoughts in his head. Shea looked upset. Royce never allowed Shea to be upset without trying to help him, but right now, he couldn’t muster the strength to reassure him. Right now, he wanted to be the one who got comforted.
“I can’t lose you. You’re my best friend.” Royce finally gave voice to his greatest fear, and the empty, dark ribbon of pain that had threatened to choke the life out of him reared its head again, only this time it bore vicious, snarling teeth.
Shea blanched and dropped to his knees in front of Royce. “You’re never gonna lose me. I’m sorry I reacted badly. I … I just needed time to figure out how to get back to us. What you did last night was …”
“Was stupid. And irresponsible. And unwelcome. I get it.”
“No, you don’t get it,” Shea blurted out. “But I need you to. You need to understand where I’m coming from so that we can deal with it and move on.”
“Go on.”
Shea ran his hands over his hair, curling his them into tight fists before releasing the locks and planting his hands on Royce’s knees. “I’ve always struggled with my sexuality and my family and being accepted, but the one thing I’ve never struggled with, are my feelings for you. To lose you—” Shea’s curls shook with his head “—I swear, I think it would end me. That may not be healthy or right … or whatever. But you’re more than my friend. You’re my lifeline. You ground me, Royce. Sometimes it scares me how much you’re willing to suffer to be that for me, and I could never jeopardize our friendship by allowing you to suppress who you are or what you want for my benefit.”
Those hazel eyes bored into his, imploring Royce to understand and accept that they could only ever be friends. Royce threw his hand over his heart and massaged as another sudden onslaught of pain assailed him. He had to force himself to focus on his friend’s fear, though. “Suffer? Why would you say I suffer for you?”
“I could name a thousand times when you’ve come to my rescue. I mean, shit, last night …”
“What about last night?”
Shea gave him an incredulous look before he spat, “You sucked me off. You’re not even into guys, and you forced yourself to do that. For me. Because I’m fucked up and needed you and everything you offer me. I can’t let that happen again. I won’t.”
Well, that objection was easy to overcome. He let a small smile curl his lips. “I loved it. Every single minute. So, you can save yourself the mental anguish of imaging me forcing myself to do something I didn’t enjoy just so you would feel better about life.”
Shea sighed heavily and squeezed Royce’s thighs before leaning back on his heels, seemingly resigned. “Royce, you’re not gay. You love women. You said yourself you’ve never been attracted to men. You only did that to distract me from my stupidity.”
Royce chuckled and leaned forward, getting right in Shea’s face so that he couldn’t dispute the sincerity in his next words. He licked his lips and didn’t miss Shea’s glance to them or his little grunt. “If that were the case, I could’ve just given you a bro to bro hand job, Shea. That’s not quite as gay as say, oh, making love to your cock with my mouth.” Shea’s eyes widened and he gasped. Oh, yeah. He was on a roll now. “Or swallowing your every drop like it was the most precious gift I’ve ever received.” Shea’s hands trembled on his thighs now, and Royce wondered if he were actually scared or just incredibly turned on. Royce was definitely on board with the latter. He gentled his tone and added, “Or sucking on your tongue like I would be content with only that for eternity.”
He allowed his words to sink in for a moment, and thought he’d made a little progress before Shea shook his head vigorously, panic settling in his troubled gaze.
Shea jumped to his feet and stood over him, anger quivering his voice. “So, now what? You’re suddenly gay? Gay for me? Bi? What?”
“Gay, straight, bi … why does there have to be a label? I wanted you. Want you. And you damn sure wanted the things I did for you.”
“You can’t just—” Shea shoved his hands against Royce’s chest with restrained force. “You aren’t—you can’t be—”
Royce circled Shea’s wrists with his hands, mindful of the thundering pulse under his fingertips. “Why can’t I be? Why can’t I want you?”
“Because, you can’t just decide that you want to be with guys. No angst. No drama. Just one day decide you want to be with me.” He struggled to free his hands, and Royce had had about enough of that shit.
Royce released him only to grasp Shea’s head between his hands. “I had a little angst.�
� Okay. Maybe three years of angst was more than a little. But Shea didn’t need to know that. “But once I decided. That, as they say, was that.”
Shea grasped Royce’s wrists this time and struggled to break free, but Royce didn’t allow it. He tightened his grip and forced Shea closer to him. Shea twisted an arm free and managed to land a punch against his pectoral. “Get the fuck off me!” Shea choked out.
Laughing now, Royce deflected the arm coming at him once again before grabbing it and shoving Shea back so that he could lumber off the futon. Shea was a strong guy, but even drunk, Royce could easily subdue him. Once he righted himself, he spun Shea in his arms and pulled him back against his naked chest. Royce’s panting breath stirred the curls around Shea’s ears. “I’m not on you, Shea. Not yet anyway,” Royce snapped.
Shea growled and struggled some more, so Royce pulled him tighter. And tighter … until, “Oh. Fuck.”
“Yeah. Exactly,” Royce agreed.
Shea ground his ass against Royce’s hard prick for a moment, vacillating between breathing hard and hardly breathing. Then, he seemed to get pissed all over again because he started pulling away once more. Achieving some room to maneuver, he used that to elbow Royce in the stomach.
This only made Royce hotter. “Stop fighting me, Shea. You’re just turning me on more.”
“You bastard,” Shea huffed, wiggling more.
Royce figured enough was enough, so he used his knees to bring Shea down on his stomach, which wasn’t as it easy as it sounded. They both hit the ground with twin grunts. The poor coffee table protested violently as it skittered across the floor. The bang of glass hitting the floor and the telltale glug of the beer he’d opened to chase his shots of whiskey soon followed.
With Shea still struggling under him, he thrust his hard length against his butt, causing them both to groan. When Shea went limp, Royce flipped him over and pinned his hands to the floor. God, to see anger and lust warring in Shea’s eyes was like kerosene to Royce’s already raging inferno. Before he could talk himself out of it, he slammed his mouth down on Shea’s, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth quickly. Royce nibbled that lip until Shea bucked against him and shamelessly rolled his hips. Then, Royce bit in earnest, earning him a surprised yelp and a hot mouth pressed against his own. He delivered an assault on those delectable lips, and Shea gave as good as he got.