by Jay Hogan
Our eyes locked, my own need reflected back to me. Goddamn. It was on. Between us we had a kaleidoscope of emotional shit to burn off, and I was pretty sure I had the perfect solution, and by the smirk on Reuben’s face, it seemed he was onto me.
“Phone off, mister,” I stated flatly, throwing mine on the hall table before shrugging my jacket to the floor. “We’ll keep the loaner on, the one management gave us, just in case.” The only people who had that number, apart from rugby hierarchy, were my family, Georgie, Craig, the social worker, and the hospital.
Reuben grinned and threw his phone next to mine before flattening me against the wall. Well, okay, then. I’d been waiting forever to get my hands on him, or his on me, whatever. I really didn’t give a fuck which way round it went as long as it happened. He ran his hands down my sides, grabbed my wrists, and pinned them above my head as I arched against him, my body desperate for a taste of him. Nuzzling into my neck, he pressed a soft line of kisses to my jaw as he aligned our bodies for a slow grind. All it took was a few slides and I was almost there. Ridiculous, but sexy as hell.
“Fuck, Rube,” I hissed, lifting my knee against him to put some distance between us. “Goddammit, can we at least get as far as the bedroom so I don’t embarrass myself before I even get your clothes off?”
His answer was to hip-check me flat again and push his whole frame up against mine until I could feel every one of those hard muscles rolling against me. Holy shit. It was nearly all over, rover. Then he stilled, thank Christ, and stared down into my eyes from a mere rabbit’s whisker away. I couldn’t have moved if you’d paid me in gold.
His breath blew out in a soft groan as he nuzzled his nose against mine. “I’ve spent all damn day dreaming of those sexy briefs you’ve got hidden under that black leather condom you’re wearing. This isn’t gonna take long.”
“Don’t think that sweet talk is gonna get you out of anything, handsome,” I answered in my best charge nurse voice. “I’ve got a fuck ton of stuff needing restitution from your arse before the morning. Making me cry for one thing, twice.”
He rested our foreheads together and eyeballed me. “I’m sorry… for everything. I’ll never be able to say it enough. But as for the rest? A fuck ton, huh?” He moved one of his hands between us to cup me firmly. “Damn, I like the sound of that.”
I might have bitten my lip—hopefully seductively, but more likely looking desperate.
His gaze dipped, but instead of the hard press of lips I expected, he leaned in to cover my mouth with the softest of kisses. And then a hundred more across my jaw, along my brow, and over each eye before landing the silkiest of all, goddammit, on my nose, all the while humming with what sounded like utter content. My heart stuttered in my chest, I was so completely entranced. If this was all we did tonight, I’d be a happy man.
“You are so beautiful, Cameron Wano,” he breathed, those hypnotic grey eyes darkening to slate and burrowing into mine. “I love you more than anything, you know that, right?”
I could only nod. My brain was still stalled on the damn nose kiss. I know I’ve said it before but really, who knew how breathtakingly sexy that shit could be?
He went on, “I’m sorry for being such a stupid, ignorant arsehole who couldn’t see the miracle I’d been gifted right in front of my damn eyes. I’m sorry for not fighting for you when I should have. And I’m sorry for every fucked-up thing that’s gonna happen after today with all this media crap, and I will walk away from rugby, without a second thought, before I’ll ever walk away from you.”
Holy crap. “I appreciate the thought, I really do,” I answered honestly. “But getting in the All Blacks has been your dream your entire life, Rube. I couldn’t take that away….”
He placed a finger to my lips. “Shhh. But it’s not my only dream, not anymore. I have a more important one. Running out on that field last night on what should have been one of the happiest days of my life, I realised none of it matters if you’re not there at the end of the day. I have rugby at this level in my life for maybe another ten years. I want you in my life forever.”
I couldn’t reply to that with anything less than a bawling cry, and I was fresh out of tears, so I ducked and pressed a serious kiss on his lips instead.
“I want to hear that again, mister, when I can take it in without totally losing my shit,” I explained. “But in the meantime, what about Cory? How does he fit into your new dream?”
“Our new dream,” he corrected me. “And for me it’s pretty much rinse and repeat. I’ve spent two weeks with only Cory in my life, and you know what I’ve done? Only thought of you… and been a crap uncle. But with the two of us together? I can’t imagine anything being able to keep us away from Cory, in whatever way you see him fitting into our lives. We need to decide that together. We’ll find a way. But between battles over my nephew and the rugby media, though—shit, it’s gonna be a hell-house rollercoaster for us at times. You get that, right?”
There was a nervous flicker in his eyes and I realised he was waiting for a response.
I leaned in and took his mouth in a decidedly less gentle kiss. “If you’re trying to scare me off, Mr Taylor, you can stop that shit right now.” I nipped his lip hard enough to make him twitch.
Then I continued, “You’ve been in my head from the minute you first kissed me and threw me against that damn wall in that car park over a year ago. Yeah, it’s been hard between us, I know that. But it’s been hard because it mattered—it fucking mattered, Reuben, it always did. We knew we had something from the start, and all I ever wanted was all of it. Every real, messed-up, glorious second of it. A secret slice, eaten in the closet, was never going to be enough for me—not of you, not of us.
“And now? Well, I’ve got what I asked for, haven’t I? And if you think a few nasty comments, bigoted sports fans, or family dramas are going to change that, you’d better strap in for the ride, sugar, because if you know anything about me in my job, you’ll understand. You’re mine, Reuben Taylor, and I take care of my own. So, are we doing this?”
He went still, staring at me, almost through me. Then his mouth curved up in a slow grin and he kissed me, long and slow. “Hell, yeah, we’re doing this,” he growled, shifting his hand to squeeze my dick through my jeans.
Mmm. I’d almost forgotten… almost. I swallowed hard and side-eyed him. “Hands,” I reminded him tartly.
He released my wrists with a wink and a mischievous smile. Holy crap but the man was adorable. I planted a wet kiss on his lips just because they were right there and I could, and then spun him by the shoulder and gave him a light shove.
“You’ve got five seconds to get that gorgeous arse of yours naked and in bed, wherever the hell it is,” I said. He took off almost before I’d finished. “And goddammit, one of us better have some condoms, and it’s not me,” I groaned.
“In my wallet,” he called from the small lounge, already halfway out of his shirt and trousers, and for a second, I was spellbound by all that fabulous gluteal muscle rippling under a ridiculously small pair of red briefs. Wait. I took a moment to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
He finished removing his trousers and caught my glazed look with a knowing smirk.
I cocked an accusatory brow. “You’ve been shopping,” I deadpanned.
He grinned. “You complaining?”
Like hell I was. “Not unless your underwear drawer starts to rival mine or contains any lace. There’s only room for one diva in this relationship, and I don’t share the spotlight.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. You want I should lose them?” He pulled at the elastic band holding the tiny scrap of material in place over his impressive erection.
“Stop right there,” I answered thickly, sounding less certain than I’d hoped, which earned me another smirk. Bastard. Two could play at that game. I hauled my shirt over my head and peeled the black leather jeans from my hips, rolling them down as slowly as I could without getting caught like a pretzel in han
dcuffs, they were that damn tight. Then I spun around and shimmied them down and over my feet, giving him a clear view of exactly what I’d been hiding underneath—a lacy black jockstrap with Fuck Me Hard written on the back of the waistband. I heard his breath hitch. Mission accomplished. I turned and stepped into him, placed his hands on my arse, and wiggled it suggestively.
He pulled me close and slipped his finger into my crease. “You do realise what’s written on the back of that ridiculous thread of material you’re wearing, right? I’m not even gonna dignify them by calling them briefs.”
“You complaining?”
“What do you think?” He pressed the pad of one finger against my opening.
“Mmm. Well, in that case, yes, I do know.” I cocked a brow his way. “You up for it?” I wrapped my hand around his dick and gave a couple of light strokes. “Sure looks that way.” The heated look he gave me damn near seared my eyebrows.
“You’d better believe it,” he answered thickly. “Though I’m not even gonna pretend I’m gonna last longer than a firecracker.”
I grinned against his lips. “Thank God. Let’s get this show on the road. There has to be a damn bed in here somewhere.”
He grabbed my hand. “Follow me.”
It wasn’t slow or pretty—neither of us had the energy or patience to fluff around with drawn-out scenarios. But it was exultant, and explosive, and crammed full of relief, hope, and promise. And when Reuben slid into me and carried us both home, there wasn’t a single thing I would’ve changed. The sensation of him filling me, cresting inside me and carrying me with him meant everything.
It was a damn statement—a declaration with our bodies that we were doing this. We were getting on this crazy ride that had every chance of success, and equal measure for disaster, but we were going to make it work. And as Reuben rested deep inside me, damp cheeks brushing my shoulder as he peppered my back with kisses, I let myself fall into his strength for the first time, giving myself over to his shelter. I wasn’t in this alone, and that made all the damn difference.
It was a tectonic shift in my thinking, and one that had been a long, long time in the making. I would never apologise for liking control, not in a world reluctant to accept someone like me. But with Reuben? Yeah, with him I could learn to let go.
Epilogue
Reuben
“TO SAY the last month has been a rollercoaster ride for new All Black Reuben Taylor would have to be the understatement of the century. It wouldn’t be a stretch to wonder how it’s all played out in the young fullback’s head, and whether he’s mentally match-fit for his first run in the black jersey since he was outed five weeks ago.
“The man has to be commended on his unwaveringly polite response to public enquiry over the issue, while refusing to comment on his actual relationship beyond a few casual quips. There’s no denying it must be hard enough to carry the concern over his rollercoaster form onto the field today against the Springboks without the added avalanche of international media attention directed at his personal life.
“We have yet to see what the crowd response will be to recent events, also. The young fullback has already endured some fiery public criticism from the usual suspects regarding not only his sexual orientation but also the manner of his coming out and the identity of his current partner, Cameron Wano. It has reignited an avalanche of debate on homophobia in rugby, and in particular the culture of secondary school rugby.
“All Black and Blues coaching and management staff, as well as Rugby New Zealand bosses, have been swift in their support of the couple in a bid to silence the critics. In addition, the LGBTQ community and much social media commentary has rallied behind them. Still, it can’t have been easy for the couple, and all eyes at the game today will be watching Taylor closely for any sign of cracks in his cool demeanour. This reporter, for one, hopes the young man does well on the field today, for his sake. If not, public retribution will be swift and, I suspect, ugly.”
Lee Thomas, New Zealand News
I TIGHTENED the final knot in my boot laces and leaned back against the half wall that separated each player’s locker space. Closing my eyes, I tried to clear my mind. In the chaos that seemed destined to be my life into the near future, I’d barely had a few minutes’ peace to get my head around this game against the Springboks.
Between training sessions I’d made regular visits to Craig in the mental health ward, where he was doing much better, and completed the requirements to become Cory’s legal guardian. We’d moved out of my apartment and settled into Cam’s townhouse, with Cory getting Jake’s room since he’d conveniently moved in with Trent. So Cam and I were together at last, but we’d barely had enough time in the last ten days to do more than kiss each other goodnight and fall into bed exhausted.
I’d been engaged with the All Blacks’ legal team to try to put a lid on my father’s ongoing interference. He’d been interviewed by several magazines, for a big fee of course, painting the two of us in a less-than-flattering light and slandering me to high hell and back, presumably an attempt to wreck my career before it even got started. To say he was pissed off was putting it mildly. But he wasn’t the only one whose feathers we’d ruffled.
My old apartment had been trashed as I’d been in the process of relocating to Cam’s, leaving little that was salvageable. Mail was repeatedly missing from both our boxes, our garbage had been ransacked, and twice Cam’s car had been keyed outside his townhouse—no prizes for guessing the likely culprit. Worst of all, an anonymous complaint had been sent to Cam’s managers regarding his moral suitability as a charge nurse, asking what kind of depraved message someone like him was sending to our vulnerable youth?
An awesome one, I’d have thought, and to my relief his managers wholeheartedly agreed. With Cam’s approval and a few edited contributions from him, they went public with a highly flattering spotlight interview about their star charge nurse, one that was greeted with surprising warmth from the public. It engendered for him a rapidly growing fan base in his own right, one he was at a loss to know what to do with.
I teased him mercilessly that he’d shortly need a PR person to work his social media base. That earned me a fierce glare and an energetic and creative disciplining between the sheets. Hell of a night.
Everything, but everything had been done under the intrusive glare of the media, which dissected every random thing that happened to within an inch of its life. It had been the predictable and proverbial shitshow it had promised to be. The one dazzling bright spot? The man I fell into bed with every night.
Even on the worst day, when things got too much for Cory, or me—or, God forbid, both of us at the same time—Cam smoothed and soothed us and got us through. His mother, God bless her cotton socks, had been helping out with childcare, she and Cory bonding like white on rice. I still couldn’t quite grasp the reality of a parent who had your back, someone I could trust, but I was just so damn grateful.
After a lot of discussion, Cam had taken a six-month leave of absence so he could look after Cory full-time and get him settled at school while I trained. He also ensured Cory got regular time with his dad. Blown away didn’t even begin to describe my reaction when he told me what he wanted to do. The hospital had of course agreed, no question, because the man was just that damn good and they didn’t want to lose him. And in truth I didn’t know how we would’ve managed with both us working. I was beginning to understand a little more how difficult things had been for Craig with little support other than me.
Cory’s guardianship was up for review once Craig got the all-clear from the psychiatric team, but already he was talking options. Either co-parenting with me or letting me have sole custody with visitation for him. He’d become adamant that he wasn’t cut out for full-time parenting, and I can’t say I disagreed with him. And though he still struggled with me being gay—and even more with Cam’s take-no-prisoners fabulousness—he’d finally warmed a little and even thanked Cam for what he was doing for Cory.
/> As for me, I couldn’t look at Cam without wondering what the hell I’d done to deserve him and the way he seemed to want me. And he did want me. Scarce for time or not, he ensured we got our fill of each other, one way or another. Not that I would ever get my fill of him. Not. Possible.
I opened my eyes and reached into my gym bag for the ridiculous scrap of torn-off silk the man had pressed into my hand this morning. A favour, he called it. Every maiden gave her knight something for good luck before he jousted, he’d said with a salacious smile. This, apparently, was mine. I’d reminded him that none of those damsels had likely handed over something that had been worn the night before in any number of compromising positions, and which still remained a tad stiff. He’d laughed and said he’d take that bet.
I tucked the silk bit under some strapping on my hip, hoping like hell it didn’t work its way out onto the field and become a feature of tomorrow’s headlines. But knowing my luck….
Someone cleared their throat directly behind me, and I turned to find Tom MacDonald’s cauliflower ears and toothy smirk less than a metre away. “I’m not even gonna ask,” he said, indicating where I’d stashed Cam’s gift.
“Good call.” I felt the blush run straight to my hairline.
He laughed, slapped my leg off the stool, and took a seat. “How you doing?” he asked.
I tried not to wince. The man ate garlic at every meal and his breath was a step from earning a hazardous warning sign at the best of times. A few of my teammates were watching, and I guessed the All Black lock had pulled the short straw to come and check on me.
“I’m fine,” I reassured him. “Excited,” I amended. “Fuck, it’s the Springboks, man. Who wouldn’t be excited?”