Unnecessary Roughness

by Alison Hendricks

  I want Owen Collins. Not just as a fuck buddy or someone to take my aggression out on. I want him around. I want to experience that stupid little fantasy I dreamed about this morning.

  But after everything I've done, all the ways I've torn him down and treated him like shit just because I could, there's no way the feeling could be mutual. He may think I deserve more, but it's never going to be from him.

  That's the thought that plays through my mind over and over as I ditch the party the guys have in the lobby and head up to the room I'm sharing with Owen for the night, hoping to just crash before he gets up here so I don't have to explain myself.

  Otherwise... I'm not sure what will happen.

  14

  Owen

  It takes a while for the adrenaline high to crash down after the game, but once it does, all I can think about is Nate.

  The way he looked last night, needy and vulnerable and not combative for once in our years of knowing each other. His attempt to get me to fuck him, and the crushing disappointment on his face when I wouldn't, as if I'd just totally rejected him. Those moments and the words he said to me this morning play back in my mind over and over again, even as my teammates are praising me in the tiny hotel lobby.

  Was he really that affected by what I said? I meant it, but I just assumed he'd brush it off the same way he brushes off everything else I say to try and douse the many bridges we've burned between us.

  I have no idea what's in his head right now, and it's got me disoriented. At least when we were at each other's throats, I knew where I stood. Now I have no idea what's going on, and I'm tired of just burying my head in the sand and trying to avoid starting shit with Nate.

  I want to get everything out in the open, no matter what happens afterward.

  Once he heads upstairs, I find ways to start pulling myself away from the conversations everybody’s trying to draw me into. Eventually, I make it to the periphery and slip away to the elevators, heading up to the fifth floor.

  The room's dark when I enter, all of the lights turned off and the curtains drawn to block out the glow of the streetlights. The AC's on full blast, and the gust of cold air that hits me feels damn nice after being in a cramped lobby full of sweaty guys.

  At first it seems like Nate might not be up here after all, but once my eyes adjust I see him on the bed furthest away from me, his back turned my way.

  I should leave him alone, but I know if I do things will just be worse in the morning.

  "You awake?" I try, looking for any signs of movement.

  His body rises and falls in a steady rhythm and I tug a hand through my hair, pacing a little.

  "Come on, man. We really need to talk."

  For a long moment, there's nothing. Then I see his shoulders move in a way that's at odds with his breathing, and I hear him let out a whoosh of air in a heavy sigh.

  "Can't it wait ‘til tomorrow?"

  His voice is muffled against a pillow, and I walk around to the other side of the bed so I can see his face. Brown eyes flick up to me, cautious.

  "I don't really wanna spend another night thinking about this whenever I close my eyes," I admit.

  That gets his attention. He pushes himself up onto one elbow and looks at me. Still wary, but there's less resistance in his eyes than there was.

  "You wanna explain what 'this' is?"

  I grab the nearby chair and take a seat. It feels weird to just talk to him like this, when everything between us has been some kind of pissing match. But I'm tired of competing. At this point I just need to know if he's ever going to forgive me.

  "What you said earlier." Nate makes a sound in the back of his throat, but I press on. "What did you mean, 'everything was fine before?'"

  Nate pushes himself up the rest of the way, until he's sitting with his back propped against the pillows. His look is combative, lips pinched into a thin line, brow crashed down. For a long moment it feels like he's just going to tell me to fuck off like usual, but eventually he lets out another breath, his expression resigned.

  "I told you I don't have any trouble hooking up with randoms," he explains. "Ever since it came out that I like taking dick, I've had a line of guys willing to give it to me."

  Guilt stabs at me again, fast and sharp. Guilt and… a hint of jealousy. Fuck.

  "Then you had to go and say that shit about what I deserve or whatever," his fingers thread through his hair, "and now it's not enough. Hooking up, letting some dude from Grindr use me... the idea of it makes me feel like shit now."

  "That's not what I wanted," I say, my brows furrowing.

  "Yeah, I know," he snaps back. "If it was just you being a dick, trying to shame me or something, that'd be one thing. But you acted like... I don't know." His gaze fixates on the wall. "Like you actually gave a shit. That it bothered you when I let these guys treat me like that."

  It does bother me.

  That's the thought that calls out louder than any of the others. I didn't really know why when I said it, beyond my guilt over thinking I'd forced him into it. But looking at him now, seeing how vulnerable he is, a whole lot of things are starting to make sense to me.

  "I always envied you back in high school," I start. "It seemed like football came naturally to you; like you were born to play it, and not just handed a jersey when you were four because your dad just happened to play for a D1 school."

  I almost expect him to interrupt me, but he doesn't. I've caught his attention, and he's looking up at me from underneath his long, thick lashes.

  "When the papers kept putting us into that rivalry, I was fucking obsessed. I wanted to be better than you every time we met on the field."

  Not much of a revelation. I was a punk when we squared off, just like he was to me. But there was a reason for it. Two, I'm coming to realize.

  "Part of it was... every time I get mentioned anywhere, it's as Tom Collins' son. They talk about him for a whole fucking paragraph, then maybe toss me one line after the fact. I wanted somebody to see me for me. Not just as some lame knockoff of my dad."

  "Yeah," Nate says quietly, "I get that. I always figured you had it easy because of him, but they never gave you credit for anything on your own."

  I swallow and nod, wondering if I should say more. I'm in this deep--might as well go all the way, right?

  "It wasn't just about getting noticed by papers and scouts, though." I let out a slow breath and meet his eyes. "I wanted to be noticed by you."

  His eyes widen, but he doesn't say anything. My heart kicks into overdrive and I decide to fill the space with as many words as possible.

  "I thought it was just envy. But I admired you, too. I liked seeing you do well; seeing scouts fight over you. And then... I don't know. Something happened. O-or maybe it was always there. But by the time we were both seniors, that admiration turned into... something else."

  It doesn't feel right to say I had a crush on Nate Vincent. Especially when I had no idea that's what it was until the moment I did. I was obsessed with him, always keeping tabs on how and what he was doing, checking out his social media, telling myself it was all to get a competitive edge, when really I just wanted to see more pictures of him being a jackass.

  But "crush" is the word that fits the most, and I didn't even get a hint of it until that one fateful night.

  "That night in the parking lot, when I saw you blowing that guy, I remember feeling just really... upset. Angry and hurt, like you were cheating on me, and you and I weren't... I hadn't even..." I laugh, shaking my head. God, I sound pathetic. "I was confused, and pissed off, and when one of my asshole teammates called me a faggot, I went nuclear."

  "Threw me under the bus instead."

  The words are murmured, and I can't really make out his tone. It's not anger or hurt. It almost sounds like he's just processing out loud.

  "Yeah, I did," I say softly. "I'm sorry, Nate. I know it doesn't make it any better, but I was upset and confused and just... a scared kid trying to deal with having a thi
ng for his rival."

  His eyes search mine for a long moment, like he's trying to figure out just how much truth there is behind my words. I should've told him back then, but I lay it all out there now, letting him see me for everything I was.

  I don't know what I expect to happen now that it’s out there. He could use this against me--out me the way I outed him. He could laugh in my face and tell me there's no way we would've ever been a thing. He could just tell me I'm full of shit and throw my words right back at me.

  What I don't expect is him slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed, leaning over as much as he can, and then cupping my face in his palms, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. I just stare at him in a mix of shock and disbelief that only grows as he leans closer still and presses his lips to mine.

  This isn't like the kiss I sought out after he made me climax that first time. It's not some desperate bid to hold on to a connection that's long expired.

  This is an attempt to forge a new one, and as his lips meld to mine, I respond with all the pent-up longing I hadn't even realized I'd been repressing all this time. Affection I’ve held onto for years, admiration that’s transformed into genuine appreciation of the man behind the skills.

  I scoot my chair closer so neither of us have to strain as much, and my hands go to his chest, smoothing over the fabric of his tee shirt and moving up to his broad shoulders.

  Our lips part only long enough to come up for air, and even then, we're still touching each other. His hands on my neck, in my hair, skimming my jaw. My hands on his arms, his back, tangling in his curls.

  The lust I've felt around him before builds slowly this time; a warmth that spreads from my center, making contact with every cell in my body. It's not a need to get off that I feel, but a need to be closer to him. When he grabs onto my collar and tugs me toward him, I know he feels it, too.

  Abandoning the chair, I stand in front of him for a moment, his face in my hands as I kiss him. The soft sounds he makes somehow feel more intimate than the unrestrained moans I've heard from him before, and I do everything in my power to tease them out, exploring his mouth with my tongue and arching my body against his.

  His hands move down to the small of my back, then my ass. His grip isn't urgent, but it's firm, and it encourages me to move onto the bed with him, my knees on either side of his hips as I straddle his lap.

  All the while we can't seem to stop kissing each other. So much time wasted, so many of these moments missed out on. We’re sure as hell going to make up for them now.

  His mouth tastes so incredibly sweet as my tongue slides into him, meeting the velvety touch of his own. His muffled whimper urges me on, and I press as close to him as I can get, feeling the line of his cock beneath me as I grind against him. His hands are everywhere, moving from my ass to my back, sliding beneath my shirt, stroking through my hair, and God it feels so good to not have to hide myself with him; to not have to push aside that need for affection.

  Nate wants it just as much as I do. Maybe he always has, and the fact that he trusts me enough to let me have this part of him makes my heart squeeze in my chest. As we kiss, I’m consumed by this need to show him exactly what I think of him—to show him how much he’s come to mean to me over these past months.

  It’s so, so tempting to keep kissing him and grinding against him, but I want to taste him. I want to give him that unselfish pleasure, and look up into his eyes as I learn his body and what makes him gasp.

  “I want you in my mouth,” I murmur against his lips.

  Nate lets out a shuddering breath. “Nobody’s stopping you.”

  A grin quirks my lips. Of course he’d still be a cocky asshole. I wouldn’t want him to act any other way.

  Stealing one last kiss, I climb off of him and then reach for his shirt. Nate helps me, tugging it up and tossing it aside while I work on his pants. I yank them down, then grip his hips to pull him to the very edge of the bed so I can get him out of his clothing more easily.

  His dick bobs as I release it from his briefs, thick and hard. God, he’s so beautiful. I want to know every inch of him, to run my hands and lips over every part of him, but for now I start with the feast in front of me. My eyes flick up to him as I lower myself down, and already I feel a rush of heat and power as his eyes go half-lidded, his lips parted around breathy exhales.

  My hands caress his thighs then, smooth skin overheating at my touch, his muscles jumping beneath me. I lean in and press my lips to his inner thigh, and I can feel his hot shaft slide against the side of my face as I do.

  Nate shivers. “Owen…”

  I want to take my time, to touch and kiss every part of him I can reach, but the need in his voice sharpens my focus. Turning my head, I touch my tongue to the length of him, feeling his moan deep inside of me, committing the taste of him to my memory.

  I tease the sides of his cock, dipping my tongue along every vein and ridge that makes up his beautiful form. And when his thighs are shaking from how badly he wants it, I draw him into my mouth, taking him as deep as I can.

  “Oh, fuck.” His hand fists in my hair, but he doesn’t force me down any further. He lets me set the pace, and again I feel that surge of power to know how much control I have over him right now.

  Drawing back until just the crown of his dick is in my mouth, I suck him gently, teasing his slit with my tongue. The taste of his precum fills my mouth, and I let out a little moan of my own, reaching out a hand to stroke his shaft while I work the head.

  “God, Owen.”

  The needy way he says my name is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard, and when I look up at him, it’s punctuated by the adoration that shines in his eyes. If I could commit this moment to memory—just this moment—it would be enough to sustain me for the rest of my life.

  But I don’t have to settle for just this moment, and Nate proves that point by giving me another earth-shattering one just seconds later.

  “I need you inside of me,” he whimpers. “Please.”

  Fuck. My dick throbs in my pants, and as much as I want to make this last, I know it’s not going to happen. I want him too much. I need him too much; need to be inside of him, skin to skin. To feel him clench around me as I bring him to climax.

  I stand quickly, feeling a rush that makes it hard for me to get a grip on my pants. Nate helps me, undoing the buttons and the fly. I pull my shirt over my head as he works on my pants and boxers, and before too long I’m standing before him, bare in every sense of the word.

  Nate looks up at me, and something passes between us. Something quiet, but powerful enough that it lodges deep in my soul. The shy smile he gives me as I grab the lube packet from my wallet and work it onto my cock tells me he feels it too, as if what we’re about to do is going to change things forever.

  Because this isn’t just fucking. We’re not just using each other, desperate to get off. This is something so much more than that. It’s two stubborn men finally setting aside their pride and recognizing that they’re better together. It’s two lost souls finding one another in the most intimate way possible. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and I want every part of it.

  Nate reaches for me, and I let him pull me onto the bed. One of his hands grips my shoulder as the other slides behind my neck, his nails pressing against the nape as he draws me in for a kiss.

  I let myself get lost in it, lost in him for the longest moment. My weight rests atop him, our bodies skin to skin, but it’s only so long before I need more. As if knowing exactly what I’m thinking, Nate breaks the kiss and looks up at me with so much trust in his beautiful eyes. It shakes me to my core, and I want so badly to give myself to him, in every way possible. To wrap him up in my arms, to slide inside of him and possess him even as he possesses me.

  “God, Nate…”

  “I know,” he whispers back, his hands resting on either side of my face.

  We stay like that as I position myself at his entrance. I don’t want to look away from him or e
ven move my hands from where they are now, tangled in his curly hair, my elbows pressing into the bed. It takes me some time to find the best angle, and Nate does have to reach down to help guide me, but my eyes never leave his as I slowly push inside of him.

  His lips part in a silent moan, and I swear I can hear the frantic beating of his heart as I go deeper, giving him every inch, pressing in one long stroke until our hips meet and I’m seated fully inside him.

  I let out a shuddering gasp as I feel him squeeze around me, right before he pulls me down for another kiss. Feeling his mouth against mine only heightens the moment, his kiss growing more distracted as I start to move. He moans into my mouth, his body rocking against mine, his muscles clenching around me as I draw back and push into him again.

  I move so slowly at first that I can feel every last amazing sensation, and just how perfectly we fit together. There’s no resistance, no adjustment. We move together, our bodies working toward the same goal. When my pace quickens, Nate’s right there with me, rocking back harder and harder against me, taking and demanding and giving all at the same time.

  The moment builds and builds until we have to stop kissing each other just to catch our breaths. His arms come around me, clutching at me, holding my body to his as my hips continue to pump. I can feel myself getting close, but I want so badly for Nate to be right there with me.

  Leaning more on one elbow than the other, I reach down to stroke his dick while I fuck him, but he knocks my hand away. His eyes burn with an intensity that takes my breath away.

  “Almost there,” he pants, and it’s all he needs to say for me to understand.

  Shifting my position, I move my hips until that now-familiar expression crosses his face. His head drops back, mouth opens, and his body arches against mine as I hit that spot inside of him that drives him wild.

  When he finally finds his voice, his moans caress every nerve ending in my body, and everything in me tunes to his pleasure. Every stroke, every touch, every brush of my lips over his skin is designed to please him, and it doesn’t take long before his breathing gets that much more erratic.