by Laney Cairo
"Just let me talk, then you can get stuck into me,” Dale said. “He's here, and he's sick, really sick—"
"For fuck's sake,” Frank cut in. “Grow a brain, and get him out of your house and life."
"Frank,” Dale warned. “Can we pretend that you're a supportive friend here?"
Frank grunted, but he didn't argue any further.
"Shane's sick, his life is a mess, and he's here. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm going to need some help from you."
"Alright,” Frank said. “As long as I get to gloat afterwards. What can I do?"
"Can you get hold of Rachel Fletcher? Her personal details will be in at the office, in her portfolio documents. Ask her if she'll do a house call here, as a favour?"
Frank sighed. “I can do that. Is Shane really sick, not just drug-fucked?"
"I think so,” Dale said. “But I don't want to have to take him to a hospital, because someone will talk, and his life is already falling apart without media coverage."
"Anything else?"
"I won't be at work tomorrow. Think you can cover my appointments?"
"Good thing I love you,” Frank said. “Since you want me to send the pretty boy in my bed home, go into work on a Sunday, and do your work tomorrow."
"Love you, too,” Dale said. “Send my apologies to your pretty boy. Give me a chance on this one. If Shane comes back..."
Frank sighed, but he sounded like he was smiling. “Alright, hon, if you think this might make you happy, or at least less miserable."
"Thank you."
Shane was sound asleep, curled up on his left side, when Dale came back into the bedroom. Dale took off his shirt and jeans and slid under the covers beside Shane. He murmured sleepily when Dale curled up behind him, calling Dale, “Madison,” but Dale shrugged mentally and held him closer.
Dale was tired, emotionally drained and physically exhausted, but not so tired he couldn't stay awake and relish the way Shane smelled and the warmth of Shane's body. He'd slept alone for so long, been alone for so long. Sleep could be delayed for a while.
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Chapter Six
If your car breaks down on a one way street, maybe the person who rams into the back of it will get out of their car and help you push yours to the side of the road.
The sheets were worn soft, washed over and over, smelling faintly of soap, but mostly of familiar skin. Shane rolled over carefully, stretching bits of himself out and yawning. No one was beside him, but he was sure that someone—Dale—had been holding him not long before.
His clothes were piled on top of the dresser, dumped on books and coffee mugs and newspapers, and Shane could move well enough to dress; the worst of the day's pain seemed to be over.
He couldn't find the thick silver chain he wore, or his phone, so he hitched his jeans up a bit and shuffled down the hall, in search of Dale. Or possibly someone else, since he couldn't assume Dale still lived alone.
Dale was sitting at his kitchen table, surrounded by plates, yet more coffee mugs, printouts and books, and he looked up when Shane slid carefully into a spare chair. Shane's chain was in his hands.
"You kept it?” Dale said, and his voice sounded rough. “The chain?"
Shane nodded. “I wear it, sometimes. I think I hoped you'd see it."
Dale shook his head slightly, but Shane couldn't figure out what he was negating, then pushed Shane's chain across the table, and Shane's phone.
There was a challenge there, unmistakeably.
Shane flicked his phone open and hit the speed dial button for Madison.
"Shane?” Madison answered, sounding frantic. “Where are you, babe? Did Lindon get hold of you? You missed training, and I didn't know where you were."
"Madison,” Shane began, and Dale's face was bleak, but he let Shane reach out and cover his hand. “Madison, um, I'm not coming back. We're over."
"What!” Madison shrieked, loud enough that Shane moved the phone a little away from his ear. Her voice was tinny and harsh, and she was shouting.
"You bastard! You fucking arsehole!” she shrieked, and Shane closed his phone, cutting her off.
"Well,” Dale said, and he sounded amused. “That was almost as bad as how you dumped me."
Shane winced, and his phone vibrated in his hand with a call.
He gripped it and slung it hard at Dale's kitchen wall, where it broke into shards of plastic and dangling bits of wiring as it fell onto the counter beside the toaster.
"I should have done that this morning,” Dale said, taking his hand away from Shane's.
"And I should have told her to check herself into rehab and to buy a burger on the way there,” Shane said, resting his head on his folded arms on the table. “Do you have any food?"
"There've been changes since you were last in a house of mine,” Dale said, standing up and opening his fridge door. “I have discovered the joy of internet grocery shopping. I click the button, someone brings a box of food to my door. We have food."
Dale took a package of plastic wrapped sandwiches out of the fridge and put them on the table in front of Shane.
"Expiry dates and all,” Shane said, and he found he could manage a small smile. “So I can know if the food's bad."
He took a cheese sandwich and unwrapped it, then bit into it. He could feel something like normalcy about sharing a sandwich with Dale, and it took the hysterical feel off the afternoon.
They drank coffee, sitting on the couch in Dale's quagmire of a study, and the feel of Dale's arm around his shoulders made Shane feel like there was a chance, that somehow he'd muddle through, and that maybe he'd be happier, even if he was alone.
The phone rang somewhere else in the house, and Dale extricated himself from the couch, stepped over the piles of papers in the doorway and disappeared off.
Shane leaned back and closed his eyes, willing to let the afternoon flow over him now until he could go back to bed with Dale, and then Dale's voice interrupted him.
"It's Madison,” he said in a low voice. “What do you want me to say?"
"Don't care,” Shane said.
Dale was leaning around the doorframe and shrugged back at Shane when Shane opened his eyes. Dale disappeared.
A minute later and couch creaked beside him, sagging as Dale settled back where he'd been.
"I told her to check herself into rehab, and to get a burger on the way there,” he said, stretching his legs out, one foot propped on a cardboard box of printouts. “Wonder how she got my number?"
"Lindon,” Shane said. “Arsehole. He's the only person that would know to look for me at your place, and would know your full name."
"I'll kill him,” Dale said cheerfully. “That'll teach him to hand out my number. I blacklisted her number with the phone company."
It felt good to Shane to close his eyes again, stopping them from stinging, and it felt even better to be kissed comprehensively. Shane reached for the top button on Dale's shirt and thumbed it undone.
Dale chuckled, a rumble against Shane's mouth, and covered his hand, stopping him.
"Not now,” he said. “I'm expecting a friend who's a doctor to drop around. How are you feeling?"
Shane rested his head on Dale's shoulder and considered. “I'm tired still, and I feel kind of weird inside. It just seems that with all the misery with Madison, it can't be as simple as telling her to fuck off, and then smashing my phone."
The doorbell rang, and Dale said, “That'll be the doctor. I'll be back in a moment."
Rachel was middle-aged and tired, kissing Dale on the cheek and then putting her medical bag down on the couch beside Shane and shaking his hand. A dyke doctor, of course Dale would know a dyke doctor who would make a Sunday house call.
"Hello,” she said. “Dale said that you've been having a lot of pain. Why don't you tell me what's been going on, and then I'll have a look, see if I can find out where the pain is coming from."
"It hurts,” Shane said, and fou
nd that he was struggling for composure. “The mornings are worst; I can barely walk.” Dale crouched down in front of Shane, and moisture leaked out of Shane's eyes unwillingly. “I take too many drugs,” he admitted. “It's all gone wrong."
Rachel nodded and took hold of his hand and examined it, then peered into his eyes. “What sort of drugs?” she asked. “Can you tell me?"
"Oh, God,” Shane said. “Codone, codeine, um, doxy something or other. Sleeping pills, valium to stop the back spasm. Anti-inflammatories. Dexies and caffeine to play. Coke, too, sometimes. Fuck, that sounds awful."
"It's not good,” Rachel said. “You using anything else? Recreationally?"
Shane shrugged. “Guess I've tried most stuff, but nothing recently."
"Let's have a look at you then,” she said.
Her hands were cool and smooth, and she felt his wrists and elbows, and when he'd taken off his shirt, she ran her hands over his back and tutted at the bruising. When she squeezed his knees gently, they felt strange, and she looked at the sole of each foot carefully.
She checked his mouth and eyes, took his temperature, too, then sat back down on the couch once he'd dressed again.
"Have you had an STD recently?” she asked. “Noticed any pain on urination, or discharge?"
He shook his head, and avoided Dale's enigmatic gaze. “Ah, I've not had multiple partners,” he said. “And I don't think my partner has either."
"I'll do a work up, to exclude an STD. Gastro?” Rachel asked.
"A few months ago,” Shane said. “End of last season, the entire team went to Bali to celebrate making the finals. Everyone got sick."
Rachel nodded. “I'll have to do some blood tests, look for a protein on your cells and the inflammatory factors, too, but I think you've got arthritis."
Shane felt bewildered. “Arthritis? In my knees and shoulder?"
Rachel shook her head. “Sorry, I'm talking about a variety of arthritis that's attacking your entire body. Your knees are swollen, you've got a rash on your feet, ulcers in your mouth and sore eyes. That's enough for me to make a provisional diagnosis. This is not musculoskeletal, this is everything."
* * * *
Rachel hugged Dale and unlocked her car. “I'll be back tomorrow,” she said. “Feed him the anti-inflammatories I've left, and let him take whatever he needs for the pain. This is not the time for him to come off opiates."
Dale nodded. “Thanks, Rachel. Thank you so much for doing a house call. I know it's an imposition."
"After how little tax I paid last year because of your advice, I'm happy to help you out."
Shane was curled up on the couch, eyes closed and face damp, and Dale crouched down in front of him.
"Hey?” he said gently. “Anyone in there?"
"What if I'm really sick?” Shane asked, and his eyes were red and bleary when he opened them. “What'll I do?"
"Whatever you have to do to get well again,” Dale said gently.
It was late afternoon, the room was full of shadows and dust motes, and Dale kissed Shane long and slow, then carefully unbuttoned his shirt. His fingers were shaking, and it was a relief to be able to close his eyes and lean forward and kiss Shane's chest.
Shane's fingers brushed over his hair and down his neck, slid under his shirt, and Dale paused long enough to undo his own shirt and push it off his shoulders. His mouth slid down Shane's sternum and Shane's belly muscles fluttered when he kissed his way down them.
There'd always been a dark undercurrent between them, an obsessive edge, and even when they'd used latex, what they did could never be considered safe. Dale had relished that, the wildness between them, it had fuelled him, made him embrace life completely, and the idea that Shane could have been satisfied with a pretty and safe life afterwards had never seemed right.
Dale dragged the flat of his tongue across Shane's belly, falling into Shane's belly button while he fumbled to free Shane's cock from the jeans. Shane cried out, loud and clear, and Dale groaned around Shane's cock.
His own belly was tight with lust, twining around his guts, making it hard to breathe, and the feel of Shane's cock jabbing against the back of his throat, already leaking, just made him harder.
He dragged Shane's jeans down and jammed his fingers between Shane's thighs, pressing into the damp, sweaty folds. Shane had said, ‘Fuck me,’ earlier, and fuck, the offer had better still be on the table, because there was nothing he wanted more.
He tore himself away, scrambled to his feet, and Shane was sprawled across the sofa, partly naked, flushed and damp with sweat. Dale said, “Don't move,” and plunged out of the room for the bedroom, intent upon condoms and lube, and not even the feeling of his toes connecting with the doorframe was going to stop him.
Shane hadn't moved when Dale came back, not even to take his own clothes off, which Dale would have considered as keeping to the spirit of the instruction, and Dale knelt down beside the sofa. Shane's back was twisted, legs hitched over the arm of the sofa, head turned sideways to press into the worn fabric, and his mouth was twisted too.
Dale slid his arms under Shane, eased him up the sofa a little. There was a passivity to Shane that made Dale want to do bad things to him, things they would both love, but for the moment Dale settled for pulling Shane's jeans and boxers off completely, and then undressing himself.
When he knelt back down and squeezed lube onto his fingers, then slid his hand between Shane's spread thighs, Shane grabbed for his wrist, stopping his hand.
"Don't,” he said. “Just fuck me."
Some things didn't change.
The sofa wasn't quite wide enough, and the wood of the frame dug into Dale's knee, but Shane opened his eyes and met Dale's gaze as Dale's cock pressed against his body. There wasn't anything Dale wouldn't have endured for Shane right at that moment.
This was the raw essence of love, something Dale could never find words for at any other time, but that he understood with all of himself when it happened. It had to be hurting Shane, he was unforgivingly tight, but while his mouth was clamped shut, his eyes were wide open.
He didn't make a sound, not while Dale eased himself in, just let out a deep groan once Dale's weight settled on top of him. The faded floral upholstery of the sofa was marked with lube where Dale's hand was braced, darkening the pale greens and blues, and Shane wound his arms around Dale's neck and used the leverage to lift his body a little, pushing Dale in even deeper.
The light was fading, but not so much that Dale couldn't see Shane's face still, and he began to rock his hips, not thrusting or sliding, just rolling his cock gently inside Shane, holding himself back. This was not the time for hard-and-fast, he'd hurt Shane and only last a few seconds; slow and deep, he could hold himself back for longer.
They were both grunting and the sofa was creaking alarmingly, connecting solidly with the wall with each thrust.
Their voices rose, and the tightness gripped Dale, making him push harder and harder. It was all too soon; Dale wasn't ready to let go of the feelings, but he couldn't hold back either, and coming was so intense it hurt.
It took some time to manage to lift himself off Shane with one last kiss, and he slid out, clutching onto the condom one-handed.
Papers and files and things that Dale couldn't name littered the study floor, uncomfortable under his knees as he slid down onto the floor. He pressed his cheek against Shane's cock for a moment, temporarily overcome, and fluid welled up, spreading across his face and Shane's belly.
Shane cried out when Dale slid his cock into his mouth, jerking roughly, jamming his cock down Dale's throat desperately, and Dale swallowed hard, overriding his gag reflex, and kept swallowing as Shane came.
He stayed there, kneeling amongst the debris of his life, his face pressed against Shane's smooth belly, and Shane threaded fingers into Dale's hair, carefully tugging on his scalp. It was completely dark in the room, the last of the daylight was gone.
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Chapter
Seven
Sometimes, when you're walking away from the wreck of your car on a one way street, the passing cars are actually trying to run you over.
He was in pain, real pain, after the sex, even after Dale had helped him back to bed. His back was spasming, his whole body burned with pain, and breathing was difficult.
Dale handed him the plastic bag of drugs from the apartment, and a bottle of water.
"I don't want to,” Shane said through gritted teeth.
"Idiot,” Dale said, and he stroked Shane's forehead gently. “You're in agony, I can see."
"I've gotta stop,” Shane said, but his gut was clenching and Dale's stroking wasn't doing anything about the pounding in his head.
"Not right now,” Dale said. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when Rachel comes back, you can talk to her about stopping, but it seems to me that if you're in pain, you shouldn't have to suffer."
* * * *
Light fell into the room from the hallway, and Shane could hear Dale clattering around in the kitchen. He was heavy-limbed and peaceful, codone and valium washing through him again. The phone rang, and Dale's voice was familiar, sounding grouchy though Shane couldn't make out the words.
The door opened further, and Dale appeared, silhouetted by yellow.
"It's Lindon,” Dale said. “Madison's dog just bit him."
"Oh fuck,” Shane said, and he took the phone that Dale held out for him. “Hey, Lindon. Did Perry really bite you?"
There was barking behind Lindon's voice when he said, “Just a nip. She's trashing my place. You really need to come and get her."
"I can't move,” Shane said. “My shoulder's completely fucked. Where's Madison? Can't she look after her own dog?"
Dale was leaning against the door frame and he nodded when Shane glanced at him pleadingly.
"Of course her dog can come here and destroy things,” he said.
"What's happened?” Lindon asked. “You disappear, there's panic over you missing the training and team meeting, then Madison rings me up, shouting and swearing, saying that you've left her and demanding that I take her lunatic dog. She is one angry woman, Shane."