“I didn’t know. I’ve said it before.” Denny screwed up his face, guilt written all over him.
“I know. I don’t give a shit most days. Doesn’t mean anything. Just…today was a bad day.”
“Well, fuck. How am I supposed to know the bad days from the good ones?” Denny swung his good hand through the air. “This is all I can fucking do now. Try to help you train. And you’re telling me I can’t even do that right.”
Great. Now Denny was frustrated and angry, and frankly Rafi didn’t feel like ceding any of his pissed-off territory. The memory of that jerk in the library still burned, and he hated that he couldn’t blow it off like he normally did. He knew he could bitch about it the next day during his session with Bree at the writing center, because he wouldn’t even have to say more than three words before she’d get it. It was so much easier to vent to another brown person than it was to explain all the fucking subtle ways assholes could fuck up a good day before you blinked twice.
“You’re doing fine,” Rafi said. Denny opened his mouth, clearly ready to press for more answers. It was as if he’d turned all of his energy toward this new training push, because he couldn’t find any other way to take care of Rafi. And he sure as shit wasn’t letting Rafi do any caretaking of his own. Rafi spoke over the start of whatever he was going to say. “Just fucking listen, man. I’ll tell you when I can’t deal. Or, you know, call me an asshole. Or a lazy motherfucker.” He tried to pull up a worn grin. Thought he mostly succeeded. “Ain’t nobody reservin’ those for me. I hear Coach shout that shit at you all the time.”
Denny laughed shortly, then grimaced, looking down at his arm in the sling. “Not fucking lately.”
The slight elevation in mood leaked out of the room like someone had stuck a pin in a balloon.
“Yeah, it sucks.” Guilt from that whole weekend still tromped in heavy boots through Rafi’s heart. That morning, they had barely moved past him taking out his embarrassment and frustration on Denny by yelling at him after their coach had called. Then Denny’s shoulder was wrecked, and Rafi learned that nothing mattered except helping Denny stop hurting. He knew that if he hadn’t gone recklessly close to the edge of the river and slipped himself, then Denny wouldn’t have come over to make sure he was safe. Denny would never have gotten injured if it weren’t for Rafi. And no amount of heroic getting him down the mountain or post-hospital aftercare was going to make up for Denny being out for the rest of the year. Or for good, maybe even, because the doc had said there might be weakness in that joint forever, although that arthroscopic surgery he’d had was supposed to be the best possible treatment. No way to tell.
Rafi had never been so glad Denny came from money like he had when the ER doc listed the treatment options. Denny hadn’t had to do much more than wave his insurance card at the man before they started arranging a surgical consult at some high-end sports medicine group in Boston. He’d gone ahead with the surgery almost immediately, but had missed nearly two weeks of class between a scheduling delay and choosing to spend the first chunk of time after surgery at his parents’ house.
There’d been an argument about that. Denny had described how he was going to need help with things like dressing and bathing and figuring out work-arounds, and Rafi had been ready to go. It had killed him to be back at school while Denny was in the hospital, wanting to drop everything to help Denny however he needed. But Denny hadn’t been interested. They spent Halloween arguing because Denny didn’t want Rafi be the one to help him tie his shoes and wash his hair, opting instead to go home to his mom for that awkward phase. For all the times he’d offered to help Rafi in the past couple of months, he didn’t hesitate to shut Rafi down when the tables were turned and Denny was the one who needed help.
When Denny had let slip that his ex-boyfriend had offered to take time off work to come stay with Denny—information that felt more like a slap than a slip—Rafi had had to grit his teeth to keep from protesting. Knowing Denny and his ex were still in contact with each other was one thing. Putting up with that guy trying to step in and do what Denny wouldn’t let Rafi do was maddening.
By the time he came back to school, Denny’s tension had ratcheted up a few more notches from frustration and pain that had only mellowed and not disappeared. His first day back, Rafi had met him at his dorm and tried to stay with Denny during the nap he needed after the draining drive to campus. But the two of them barely fit on the narrow college beds when no one was hurt. Denny had managed to find a way to sleep with pillows wedged in a half-dozen different places, and Rafi’s attempt to squeeze in on the edges had resulted in enough painful maneuvering that Denny had told him, nicely, to please go away.
Even in the gym, like now, Denny only made room for him around the edges, forcing Rafi to focus on his own performance and not what Denny needed. Moments like these, when Denny acknowledged what he was losing in training time and experience, were rare.
“Shit happens, man.” But Rafi knew it cost Denny to say it. Could see the tension pulling Denny’s spine straight and lifting his chin. Nothing casual about his posture at all.
“Still sucks.”
“Sure does.” Denny dropped his hunched shoulders. Dropped his head forward and rolled it left and right, like someone trying to ease the ache of tight muscles in his neck. “You know what’s the worst?” he asked, voice lighter, glancing at Rafi through the blond hair that was growing too long and hanging in his eyes now.
“What’s that?”
He wiggled his fingers where they stuck out from the end of the sling he was supposed to wear 24/7 for another three weeks. “It’s my jerk-off hand.”
Rafi groaned in sympathy, bending forward a little as he tugged his feet out of the straps, immediately doing math in his head at a frantic rate in an attempt to distract his stupid brain from images of Denny jerking off. Twenty-seven seconds too slow on that 2k. That was only about a second faster on every hundred meters to beat Ted’s time. What was seven into twenty? Around three. So, 1.3 seconds faster per hundred.
Nonsense. Meaningless crap, because he needed to pick up most of that time in the first explosive burst of rowing that powered the beginning of a race, before settling into a race pace. But anything was better than remembering the taste of Denny’s skin where Rafi had bitten his shoulder. The sound of his breath catching in the dark. The way he’d reached back with one hand and wrapped his fingers around Rafi’s neck. The feel of him, hot and hard, in Rafi’s hand as he’d stroked Denny until his back arched and Denny had gasped out loud.
I offered, damn it. I offered every day when he first got back, and he bit my head off every time.
He dragged his mind away from the memories, determined to avoid another hard-on in the workout room. He’d been embarrassing himself way too frequently lately, a fact that Denny had either not noticed or was ignoring. Denny’s physical therapist had given him instructions on what kind of gentle back and shoulder massage would help reduce his discomfort, a task Rafi had leaped on when Denny had mentioned it. But having his hands on all that bare skin was torture when nothing was going to come of it. He really had offered to get Denny off, because hell, who wouldn’t feel better after an orgasm? Endorphins, man. But Denny had flat-out turned him down, claiming that everything hurt no matter what he did.
Rafi had gone home those first nights and showered in the dark, jerking off under the heavy spray until he leaned against the wall, worn out but still frustrated, wondering how long it would be until they got back to normal.
Of course, the problem was they’d never had a chance to figure out what normal would look like for the two of them. He’d worried about how people—teammates, suitemates, whoever—would react to learning he and Denny were together?
Not a problem. There was nothing to learn, damn it.
Although this was the first time Denny had mentioned anything sexual, even as a joke, since the accident. Rafi let himself consid
er for ten seconds that maybe the ice between them was thawing, before slamming the door on that fantasy.
Get a grip, Castro. Before you’re running on the treadmill with a hard-on. Again.
“C’mon. You can finish up the workout with me,” he said, sighing and moving over to a treadmill to finish his last cooldown circuit.
Denny glared at the row of exercise bikes, then dropped his shoulders and trudged on over. “Yeah, I guess.”
Rafi turned his back while Denny settled himself on one of the recumbent bikes, knowing he hated using it. But with only one arm free, Denny’s balance was wonky, and the first time he’d fallen off one of the ellipticals, Rafi had yelled at him until heads turned.
“Do you want to fucking injure yourself all over again? Be out for good, instead of a season? What’s wrong with you?”
Denny had taken his hand, levering himself to his feet with a curse, and then pushed past him with a slam of his good shoulder that set Rafi back on his heels and left his arm aching. Pissed off was Denny’s general state of being lately, despite focusing most of his energy on this killer training strategy.
“You’re gonna be in that boat if I have to tie your hand to the fucking oars,” Denny had promised him grimly. And shit, Rafi wasn’t even one hundred percent sure he cared that much about rowing anymore. Between classes kicking his ass and figuring out what he could manage to do to help Denny without him noticing, he was halfway to throwing his hands in the air and shouting Fuck it.
Then he’d remember that they probably didn’t let you keep your rowing scholarship money if you quit the rowing team, and he’d roll out of bed at 5:00 a.m. again, heading over to Denny’s dorm to grab him before practice, because the least he could do for the guy whose arm he’d fucked up was save him the walk over to Rafi’s dorm to haul his ass out of bed. It was ridiculous that Denny came to practice at all, but he insisted on it. Riding in the launch or hanging out at the boathouse, he was determined to be there.
Denny finished his modified cardio and headed into the locker room before Rafi did. Because worry about that boy had eaten holes in his fucking brain like that video they’d showed everyone in his high school about what meth did, Rafi punched up the speed on his treadmill. His feet pounded so fast and hard on the belt whizzing beneath him that the frame shook.
As soon as he hit six miles, he jumped off the machine and headed to the showers. Obviously Denny was not going to be lying on the wet tile, water pouring over his pale skin, head bleeding from where it had split open when he’d slipped and fallen and smacked it on the floor.
He doesn’t fall down when he walks, you idiot.
Rafi didn’t know what was wrong with him. Some switch had flipped when he’d helped Denny down that mountain and then sat in the back of the neighbor’s car all the way to the hospital, stroking Denny’s hair back from his clammy forehead. He hadn’t given a damn if anyone else could see there was clearly something going on between them. That his hands on Denny’s skull were soft and cradling.
He didn’t know how to stop wanting to take care of Denny.
How to stop wanting him, period.
In the locker room, Denny was already in the showers, so Rafi grabbed a towel and headed into the cubicle next to him. The soft cursing began a minute after he turned on the hot water.
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” He stared at the partition between them as if he had X-ray vision and could see through it if he looked hard enough.
“Nothing. I got the damn sling wet. Shoot.”
Rafi poked his head over, tall enough to see, if not all the way to the ground, enough of Denny’s naked, wet body to make his tongue swell up in his mouth.
Other things were swelling too.
“Do you need a hand?”
Denny’s face popped up from where he’d been peering at the water dripping off his elbow. “What?”
“Want me to dry it off under the hand dryers?” The question was so stupid as to make him wish he could snatch the words out of the air and stuff them back in his mouth. Denny wasn’t incapacitated. If the sling was wet, he could dry it himself. Rafi wrapped the tips of his fingers over the top of the partition and stayed standing on his toes.
“No, I think I’m all good?” But Denny’s voice rose, like maybe he wasn’t sure. Like maybe there was something he did need from Rafi, if only he could figure out what it was.
Their gazes locked, Denny’s pupils dilating as Rafi watched. His chest rose and fell quickly, the roar of the showers blocking out any sounds from the rest of the gym.
“Sure you don’t need a hand?” The words rasped out of his throat. There was too much spit in his mouth, and he swallowed it before licking his lips.
Denny’s eyes followed the drag of Rafi’s tongue across his mouth.
“Maybe.” The husky word barely floated loud enough to rise over the rush of the water.
Rafi dropped back down onto his heels. Now that he couldn’t see Denny, wasn’t mesmerized by the cut of that muscle over his hip, pulling his gaze down to where his dick had been getting hard as Rafi watched, he could get his own brain under control. Maybe.
Because this wasn’t the middle of the night in Vermont. Or Boston. It was 8:00 p.m. at the gym on a Tuesday, and Denny was interested in letting Rafi get his hands on him for the first time in almost a month.
Was he doing this?
Hell, yes, he was.
He turned off his shower, then slipped out past the curtain and into the cubicle next to him.
Impossible to figure out where to look first. Water streamed down Denny’s naked body, his arm held carefully at his side in a slightly extended position that was supposed to make it easier for his tendon to reattach to the bone postsurgery.
Even though it had been weeks since the accident, Denny didn’t look like he’d lost much muscle tone at all. The sharp ridges of his pecs, his abs, and all the muscles lower down were highlighted in relief by the fluorescent lights shining from the high ceiling.
That one pair of muscles in particular, the hip flexors, whose distinct line drew his eye every time right…there.
“Rafi.” Denny’s voice rasped harshly, his name ripping free of Denny’s teeth before they bit deep into his own lip. Under Rafi’s hot gaze, Denny’s dick got harder, long and thin and cut, curving just enough to make Rafi wonder what it would feel like, fucking him.
And God, did he want to drop to his knees right there and suck Denny’s cock until he choked on it. That he had hesitated at all about this at the beginning of the semester made him the biggest idiot on campus. But it was like they’d given directions to the locker room’s architect to make it as difficult as possible for two six-foot-plus, two-hundred-pound guys with plenty of muscle to get it on in one tiny shower cubicle. Not to mention the plastic shower curtain, that was currently slapping wetly against his ass as it billowed in the spray, stopped six inches short of the floor.
For sure his size fourteens were going to stick out, extremely visibly so, if he got on his knees. There might not be anyone else in the showers now, but the gym was open until eleven o’clock and someone could walk in at any moment.
Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care.
He pushed Denny up against the wall, palm flat against the cool tile over Denny’s shoulder. The smell of Denny’s soap, sharp and spicy, made him dizzy. He tucked his head against Denny’s neck and sucked on the clean, wet skin as Denny clutched at his shoulder. A hair-roughened thigh slid between his legs and he rocked against it, scraping his dick against the smooth skin-over-bone of Denny’s hip.
Making sure not to bump Denny’s healing arm, he pushed and rubbed against him until Denny locked an ankle around his leg and started humping his thigh. Rafi shoved a hand between them and wrapped it around both of them, squeezing them together, shaking with the effort of holding back groans.
; When the heat of Denny’s orgasm spilled over his hand, Rafi sank his teeth into Denny’s shoulder as his own climax rocketed through him like a thunderclap.
Warm water pelted them as they clung to each other, letting the shower wash away the evidence of the pleasure they’d snuck in front of what he certainly hoped was still an empty locker room.
“Okay. We can train twice a day if you’ll let me do that every time,” he muttered into Denny’s neck and got a snort of laughter in return.
“Twice a day. Three times on the weekend,” Denny promised while Rafi groaned, hoping he was kidding. Rafi turned off the water. “We’re gonna get you in that varsity boat, I promise.”
The whole thing was more important to Denny than to Rafi, but he didn’t have the heart to tell him. If it would help distract Denny from all he was missing out on this year, then Rafi would bust his ass until it broke.
He owed it to the man to give his all.
Rafi shook his head and didn’t say a word, grabbing the towel out of Denny’s hands and drying him off with it. He knew it was hard for Denny to dry off everywhere using only one hand. Extra grumpy days were ones that started with Denny getting dressed in clothes that stuck to him because his back especially was still dripping wet when he put them on.
So Rafi took his time. He held the towel in both hands and ran it all over Denny’s naked, pink body, skin still flushed from the hot water and the orgasm. And Denny stood there and watched him, a soft smile blooming on his mouth, holding out each arm and leg for drying as Rafi turned and turned around him. They were quiet, not saying a word now, and it felt special. Like the moment Rafi had been waiting for, when Denny let the walls down and let him back in. Let him help.
Level Hands: Bend or Break, Book 4 Page 23