by Laney Cairo
* * * *
It was daylight, white and bright around the edges of the closed blinds, when Dale groaned and rolled over on the couch.
Shane was hobbling into the kitchen, half-bent over, stiff-kneed, when Dale disentangled himself from the rug and sat upright.
"What did you do to my phone?” Shane said, poking at the pile of parts on the counter.
"It kept ringing,” Dale said. “It was dismantle it or smash it, so I took the battery out."
"Fuck,” Shane said under his breath. Water gurgled as he filled the kettle then set it on the stove top. “Guess I've missed training and the team session."
Shane looked like shit in the half-light from the blinds. He was haggard, far too thin, and not in the way he'd been at the end of previous seasons. He looked old.
Dale didn't necessarily move too well himself first thing in the morning, his knees and lower back were inclined to seize up, especially if he'd done something stupid like sleep on a couch, but he still moved better than Shane.
"Didn't think you'd still be here,” Shane said, studiously keeping his face turned away from Dale, rinsing out coffee mugs, wiping a spoon on his shirt.
"You looked like you were in a bad place,” Dale said neutrally. “Didn't want to leave you alone."
All he did was touch Shane's shoulder, a simple act of support, and Shane was in his arms in a moment, clinging to him.
He hugged Shane back, and the familiar smell of Shane kicked a sense-memory, back to the early days when the wild potential between them was first unfolding. He'd carried the aching longing for the young player around like a stone in his pocket, enduring random drunken hugs at team social events, until his control had finally crumbled and he'd gone to Shane's house and hit on the man.
Within minutes, Shane had been sprawled across his bed, moaning and writhing while Dale blew him, much to Dale's delight.
Not the best memory to retrieve under the circumstances, and Dale pulled away and busied himself making black instant coffee for both of them.
Shane made a strangled noise behind Dale, and when Dale turned back, the bleakness of Shane's face cut through him.
"Fucking hell,” he said under his breath, and he pulled Shane back into his arms.
* * * *
They sat on the couch, mugs of coffee cooling in front of them, and Shane struggled to find words.
"It's all gone wrong,” he said. “Every single thing. This is not what I wanted, and I can't even play again until my shoulder heals."
The weight of Dale's arm was gentle across Shane's back, and he could smell that Dale hadn't showered for a couple of days.
"Tell me,” Dale said gently, and it was more than Shane deserved, far more. “What's happened with Madison?"
That Dale was prepared to say her name without an obscenity attached to it was a surprise. Shane had dumped him for Madison the previous year, and done it badly.
"It's not working,” Shane said. “She's ... got stuff of her own going on. I think she feels like I ripped her off somehow, like I owe her more than I've given her."
Dale's chest was solid when Shane leant his aching head against it, and Dale's fingers curled around the sharp point of Shane's elbow.
"Is it over?” Dale said, and it all just hurt so much that Shane shook his head mutely.
"Why not?” Dale asked, and it even hurt when Shane lifted his head.
"I don't know how,” Shane admitted.
Dale raised one eyebrow and there was a trace of ridicule in his voice when he said, “Really?"
"Do you hate me?” Shane asked suddenly. “Because of what I did?"
That was a dangerous place to go, probably the most dangerous place there was.
Dale's face was unreadable, an implacable mask, but the hand that cupped Shane's chin was gentle, the fingers cradling his jaw, and it suddenly occurred to Shane that the ache in his belly wasn't just from twisting guts.
"Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kiss you,” Dale murmured.
There were at least seven reasons that Shane could think of, starting with Shane not actually being single, working through the issues of their history, and culminating with the fact that Shane felt like shit, but the seconds ticked past and Shane swallowed and kept silent.
The flat smelled stale, of dust and cockroach droppings, the couch was shabby, Shane felt as old as time itself, and the rational part of his mind was pointing out that he'd found an entirely new self-destructive behavior, but it was all irrelevant at the moment when their noses bumped and their lips brushed together.
"Oh, God,” Shane whispered, and Dale's hand sliding under his shirt felt like a benediction. This was what had kept them together in the face of repeated separations and the difficulties of Shane staying closeted; the way they were together.
Shane endured sharp moments of agony as he crawled backward to lie down on the sagging couch, then Dale's mouth was coaxing kisses out of him, and Shane was so hard that he just wanted to scream.
Sex with Madison was mostly an intellectual exercise, a skill test perhaps, and he'd almost forgotten how utterly real Dale was; under-washed, short-tempered, rough-handed, but uncompromisingly real.
"Close your eyes,” Dale said, and Shane felt him kneel up and begin to undo the buttons of Shane's shirt.
The air of the room was cool, the fridge hummed and whirred, and the feel of Dale's mouth on Shane's nipple was unbearably good, making his hips twitch involuntarily, which sent pain stabbing up his back. Lying there, feeling Dale trail a path of saliva from one nipple to the other, his stubble scraping at Shane's skin, was some kind of torture, the best kind.
The rasp of his zip made Shane's stomach muscles flutter, and he realised he couldn't remember the last time he'd come. Had he had a wank in the shower the previous week? The week before?
His balls hurt, pulled up tight against his body, adding to all the other aches, but the hand that touched his cock was gentle, carefully freeing him from his jeans.
"So beautiful,” Dale said, and the flat of his tongue dragged up the length of Shane's cock, then a strong hand curled around him, slipping through the saliva.
Shane groaned loudly, surrendering to the feelings, letting the heat build inside him far too quickly, but he couldn't hold back. This was too much, making him twist helplessly, and he couldn't keep his eyes closed any longer, not once the fire had started to burn.
Dale's eyes were half-closed, his tongue protruding between his lips, and he looked like his heart was breaking or something, and for all that Shane knew, it was.
It didn't slow Dale's hand, the calluses dragging agonisingly across Shane's tender skin, and Shane's orgasm landed on him like a load of bricks, pinning him to the couch, making him cry out, and it was so burningly good that he couldn't breathe.
Shane watched almost disbelievingly while Dale licked his own hand then leaned forward briefly over Shane and kissed him. Shane could taste his own come, forgotten until then.
Dale knelt back on his heels, between Shane's spread legs, and unbuttoned and unzipped himself, taking his cock out and groaning quietly. The head of his cock was flushed deep red, foreskin pulled right back, and it was still the most erotic thing that Shane had ever seen.
If Shane could move, if he wasn't both made of jelly and crippled by pain, he'd do something more than touch Dale's thigh, but he couldn't move, not a chance. When he lifted his eyes to Dale's face, Dale met his gaze.
The crushed nerve in Shane's shoulder made it feel like someone was dragging razorblades down his arm, but he tried not to let that show, tried to keep everything except how fucking good it felt to be there from showing, and it was worth it when strands of come flicked across his bare chest and Dale's face creased with pleasure.
No one had held Shane for so long, not just held him and kissed him, and even though every inch of his body hurt, Shane didn't care.
Dale's shirt was undone and untucked, and Shane closed his eyes and reveled in the feel of skin a
gainst skin. Dale's fingers traced over his arm, up to his neck, then down over his shoulder, making Shane's skin tingle. It was enough to make him ignore the creeping misery in the rest of his body and keep his eyes shut, just to focus on the touches.
"Shane?” Dale said, his voice rumbling through his chest under Shane's ear. “What the fuck happens now?"
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Chapter Five
If your car breaks down on a one way street, someone is bound to rear end you.
It was too much to either think or feel about, so Dale opted out of both options. Later he could deal with the self-recrimination, but right at that moment he was focussed on holding his jeans up with one hand while he adjusted the temperature of the shower.
Shane's hands slid inside his jeans, pushing them down, and Dale didn't resist. They could shower then talk, and if there was touching and kissing in the shower, that didn't count.
He kicked his jeans off his feet and dumped his shirt on the floor, and turned back to help Shane undress.
Shane was naked already, leaning against the wall, and Dale could almost pretend that he looked like his usual self, only more sombre, with mottled purple and yellow bruising spreading across one shoulder underneath adhesive strapping. “Hey,” Dale said over the rush of the shower water. “You alright?"
Shane shook his head slightly, but he took the hand Dale held out to him and stepped into the shower cubicle.
Two shower heads. It had been on the list of requirements for the apartment, and it had meant that Shane could turn around so the stream of water pummelled his back without Dale having to freeze. Dale was worried, a deep gut-clenching, foreboding-of-impending-doom kind of worried, about Shane. There had been a time when Shane had been everything to him, when he had known every mood and every inch of Shane's body, but that Shane seemed to have been replaced with a sad stranger.
They kissed, open-mouthed and slippery, and Dale wrapped his arms around Shane and began to stroke Shane's back. The muscles were like steel cable, too close to the skin, and the groans Shane was making weren't the sort that meant he was enjoying the touches.
"Want me to stop?” Dale asked, and Shane nodded.
"Just touch me,” he said, so Dale did, sliding hands over Shane's ribs, kissing his neck, letting their bodies rub together with the kind of wet, abrading friction that would leave them both rubbed raw the next day.
The flesh over Shane's ribs, what there was of it, was dimpled and corrugated, and Dale pulled back a little and looked at Shane's face closely.
Shane was slumped against the wall of the shower, eyes closed and mouth open, so Dale pushed his concerns aside and concentrated on kissing Shane.
They were both turned on, and Shane's cock pressed against Dale's hip invitingly.
"Oh, God, fuck me,” Shane whispered, almost too quietly to be heard over the rush of the water, and there was no way Dale could have concealed the throb of his cock.
"I can't,” he said. Shane was so tempting, squirming against him, kissing him hard, and it would be so easy to just give in.
Shane pulled out of Dale's arms and turned around, and God knows what it must have cost Shane with the amount of shoulder pain he had, but he braced his hands against the tiles and spread his legs. The water streamed down his back, coursing in rivulets over his arse.
There was nothing on the planet as good as barebacking Shane, no sensation like it, and Dale was weak, weak enough to slide behind Shane, let his cock brush down the crack of Shane's arse, and for one blinding moment the head of his cock pressed against Shane.
But he had no lube, and he had no idea who Shane had been fucking, and they were in a world of pain already, so he guided his cock between Shane's legs so it pressed up against Shane's balls instead.
Shane slumped back against Dale, shaking, and Dale curled his hand around Shane's impossibly hard cock and jerked it roughly.
It wasn't the same, nothing ever was, but if they could get through this, get out of the shower and just talk for a while, stop the craziness for a moment...
Shane was shouting, begging, clutching behind himself to grab at Dale. It was wild and dangerous and this was how they had been before. Shane wasn't able to hold back, and once he'd come, writhing and twisting, then slumped back against Dale, the only sound over the roar of the water was the rough gasps of Dale's own sobs.
He left Shane in the shower, stumbled blindly into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, dripping over the bedding.
A moment later the mattress dipped beside him and a hand spread across his back. He loved Shane so much, always had, and to have Shane blunder back into his life, spreading disaster everywhere, was too much to take.
When Dale stopped crying, the pillow he'd burrowed his face into was wet and his head hurt and he hated everyone, but most especially himself right then. The hand stayed where it was, solid comfort, and Shane said, “Take me home, Dale."
When Dale rolled over, wiping his face on his forearm, Shane's eyes were bleary and swollen, but his face was calm.
"Home?” Dale asked, and his voice cracked. “I don't know where you live,” he pointed out.
"Your home,” Shane said. “Somewhere with more than one towel and something other than vodka in the fridge."
* * * *
In Dale's car, Shane tipped the seat back as far as it went and lay back with his eyes closed. He hadn't had his morning pills and his body was a fucking mess because of it. He had varying levels and types of pain running through him. Shoulder pain, excruciating and sharp. Knee pain, making it hurt to walk and impossible to drive. His skin stung, his head ached dully, his eyes were raw and too light sensitive. Even the inside of his mouth hurt, but that could possibly have been from the amount of kissing they'd done.
His re-assembled phone was on the dash, set to silent, all his calls going straight to the message service, and eventually he'd have to call Madison, explain his absence somehow. She was used to him disappearing for a few hours, or a night, and it kind of amused him that she assumed he was on a bender when that happened. She was the one who did that, not him.
Not that Dale wasn't addicting. Fuck, what that man could do with his hands and mouth and cock, and just thinking about that made Shane reach down and adjust himself a little, even after having come twice already.
Once they were off the freeway, Dale reached out his hand and spread it over Shane's thigh.
"Have you seen a doctor?” he asked, and it sounded like he was choosing his words carefully.
"Yeah,” Shane said. “Why?"
"And what did the doc say?"
"Need a cruciate ligament repair or seven. Take the pills so as I can keep playing,” Shane said, bringing his seat back upright so he could see Dale's face. Dale looked worried.
"Have you seen a doctor who wasn't a team employee?” Dale asked, glancing sideways at Shane as a truck overtook them illegally.
"No,” Shane admitted. “No time."
"Will you?” Dale asked, and right then there wasn't much Shane wouldn't agree to, just to keep hearing the concern in Dale's voice.
"Do you think I should?” Shane asked. “Because I will if you think I need to."
Dale changed lanes, pulled into a side street and parked the car. He turned sideways so he was facing Shane and took hold of one of Shane's hand.
"I know your body,” he said gently. “At least I did before. You're not the same, everything's different about you."
"I'm not positive,” Shane said. “You could've fucked me."
"That's not why,” Dale said, and he looked as hurt as Shane felt. “At least, that's not the only reason why. There're two of us here, Shane, and I can't just give everything to you again."
"You could have,” Shane insisted, and he could feel how irrational he was being, but he was in so much pain he didn't care.
Now Dale was angry, eyes narrowing slightly, mouth tightening. “No,” he said. “Not if you're going to fuck off again, and I have to keep o
n living."
Oh, God, Shane needed codone, right then. Codone, valium and doxy, the holy trinity of pain control. Except they wiped him out so completely he had to use dexies to stay awake to play. He wrenched his hand out of Dale's and scrabbled through the bag of vials he'd scooped up from the flat, finding what he needed. It wasn't like it mattered if he fell asleep.
Dale rummaged around beside his seat, then handed him a murky-looking bottle of water. Shane washed down the handful of pills, not caring how brackish the water was.
"Alright,” he said, turning his head away from the steel of Dale's face. “I'll see a doctor."
* * * *
Shane was hard to wake and was confused and bleary when Dale guided him to the front door, then through the empty house.
Shane didn't resist being undressed, only saying sleepily, “I think I took too much."
"Sleep it off,” Dale said, pulling the rumpled blankets over Shane, then kissing his forehead. “We can talk about this later."
Shane nodded, eyes already closed.
Dale left Shane and went to find his phone. He needed to call in some favours.
Frank was asleep when Dale rang him, taking ages to answer the phone, then mumbling.
"Hmm,” Frank said blearily. “What? Why the fuck are you ringing me, Dale? Do you have any idea what the time is?"
"About ten,” Dale said. “On a Sunday morning. I wouldn't have rung if it wasn't an emergency."
"Hang on,” Frank said, then Dale heard muffled voices. “Sorry, mate, but I pulled last night. Right, I'm in my study now and can talk. What's the drama?"
Dale looked at his own study, with its snowdrifts of paperwork, and had to smile at the image of Frank, naked and sleepy, sitting behind his chrome and glass desk in his executive massage chair.
"I went to the apartment yesterday, to start packing, and Shane turned up. Seems he's been using the apartment as a safe house or something."
Frank groaned. “You didn't sleep with him, did you? You fucking idiot."
"Anyway, he's at my place now—"
"You're all kinds of stupid,” Frank said, and he sounded seriously pissed off.