by A. R. Moler
He drew a long breath in and blew it out slowly. His head still hurt, and he deserved it.
§ § § §
A week later, Griff was lying under the front of end of his partially-disassembled MGB. Early evening spring sunshine slanted across the garage floor and cast irregular shadows of the parts scattered there. A much longer shadow fell across the concrete to the edge of the front bumper, and he slid the crawler he was lying on out from under the car.
Dr. Sean Avery was standing in the open doorway of the garage. Sean’s blond curls had been tightly pulled back into a ponytail, and he wore a blue Oxford cloth shirt tucked into a pair of black chinos.
“Thought I’d come by and see how you were doing,” Sean said casually.
“Better. Surviving my own stupidity for the moment,” Griff answered. He sat upright on the crawler, one leg folded on the board, the inflexible one still stretched out in front of him.
“So what’s wrong with it?” asked Sean, gesturing at the car.
“Transmission issues.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a work in progress. I’ve been trying to get it going for a couple weeks now.”
“Is that a long time or a short time for something like that?” Sean asked. Griff looked at him in puzzlement. “I can put stitches in a screaming toddler’s elbow in ten minutes flat, but I don’t even know how to change the oil in my car,” the young doctor admitted.
“If I was actually motivated, it should have taken a couple of days. It’s not like I have a lot of better things to do with my time.” Griff hauled himself to his feet and limped heavily over to a tool bench, dropping a wrench into it.
“Are you hungry? I was thinking of going by the steak place on Randolph Road to grab some dinner,” said Sean.
Griff looked at his grease-stained hands and filthy jeans and T-shirt. “Um… I’ll pass. I’m kind of a mess,” he replied.
“I’m not in a hurry. If you want to clean up, I’ll wait,” Sean offered.
Griff stood looking at him for a long moment. Dinner? Did that qualify as a date or just as food? He was still somewhat mystified by the interest Sean seemed to have in him. A washed-up, has-been, ex-FBI guy, permanently disabled. What could he possibly have to offer a young, gorgeous doctor?
Yet, Griff wanted this. Even if it was nothing more than conversation and a meal, he wanted to pretend, just for a couple hours. He snagged his crutch from where it was propped against the back fender of the car.
“It’s probably going to take to take at least twenty minutes…” he said, offering Sean an out if he had second thoughts.
“That’s fine.” Sean followed him into the house.
§ § § §
In the shower, Griff stood under the water, soaping up, leaning slightly on the shower chair that faced the back of the stall. He had reached the point where he only used it occasionally now. For all its excruciating torture, physical therapy did help. He had progressed from barely being able to walk, even with a walker, to fair mobility with the crutch. The therapist had said he might even step down to a cane in a few more months, but he would never run again. The profound limp, the fact that his knee —screwed, plated and wired together as it was —only bent about forty degrees on a good day, was a statement of his life now.
The water cascaded over him, rinsing away the greasy dirt. He thought about watching Sean in the shower those few days ago. Wet, lean muscles, perfectly sculpted ass, all those damp blond curls. Christ, Sean didn’t have to even be there, and he still made Griff achingly hard.
Griff wrapped his fist around himself and stroked hard. It only took a couple minutes before he came, splattering the wall of the shower. God, how he wanted to run his hands down that body. Like that was ever going to happen. The guy was just being nice, almost the equivalent of following up on a patient.
Griff got out of the shower and dried off. As he dragged on a clean pair of boxers, he thought for a moment about what Sean was wearing. He was dressed nicely, conservatively; he must have come here after work. Griff tossed the jeans he had grabbed from the closet on the bed, and pulled out a pair of tan Dockers instead, with a white shirt.
§ § § §
Sean drove them to the restaurant. Here in the middle of the week, it wasn’t very crowded. Sitting in a corner booth, Griff wondered for a moment if anyone glancing at the two of them would assume they were just a couple of work colleagues grabbing dinner.
“How’s… um… your sister?” Griff asked awkwardly.
“Improving. She’s getting used to negotiating doors in her wheelchair. She’s gotten a little more feeling back below her chest. It makes it a bit easier for her to twist her body, and not tip over as easily. Did you go to PT yet this week?”
“Yeah. The usual torture.”
“So tell me about the car? It’s a beauty, even if I wouldn’t have a clue of how to fix it,” Sean said with a grin. Griff was amused. He didn’t know too many guys who would admit so cheerfully that they didn’t know what went on under the hood.
§ § § §
After lingering over the meal for an hour and a half, they eventually headed back to Griff’s house. Sean pulled up in the driveway and Griff got out. Crutch in his grip, he walked stiffly to the front door. Griff glanced back at the car. Sean was gazing at him through the open window. Was he hoping for an invitation inside, or was he just making sure Griff got safely into the house?
Griff stood uncertainly on the front porch for a moment, then he turned and called back to the young doctor. “Want to come in for a beer?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sean put the car into park and got out.
Inside, Griff snagged a couple of bottles out of the refrigerator and brought them into his den. Sean was drifting along the edge of the room, looking at the bookshelf.
“You have quite a few books about the UK,” he commented.
“Yeah. Been there once. Keep hoping I’ll get around to going back.” Griff handed him a bottle and sat on the sofa. Sean continued to read the titles on the spines for another minute before joining him.
“Any place in particular you want to go?”
“Some. Cambridge, Cornwall, Portmeirion, Cardiff.”
“I think Cambridge is the only one I’ve heard of. Nope, actually, I take that back. Doesn’t Cornwall have something to do with King Arthur?” said Sean.
“Yeah, something like that.” Griff let his eyes roam down the length of the other man’s legs. Sean was sitting only inches away. It would be so easy just to reach out and touch him. Was Sean even remotely interested in him that way?
Give Griff a situation where he had to judge how close a gunman was to pulling the trigger, and he could read every tell-tale twitch and fidget. But expect him to decide if an advance on a potential partner was wanted or not, and suddenly he was filled with doubt. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to reach a decision.
Slender fingers brushed along his cheek, and his eyes popped back open. Sean was looking at him, an expression of gentle concern on his face.
“You okay?” Sean asked. Griff blew out a slow breath.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” he replied. Time to dive in and probably get shot down. “I… I’m interested in you. Um… r-romantically…” he stuttered out. God, he sounded like a freaking teenager. What Griff really wanted was to push Sean back into the cushions and run his fingers through all those curls and kiss the man senseless.
“Good. Now I won’t feel like I’m taking advantage of you.” Sean smiled, set his beer on the floor, and twisted toward Griff, pulling him into a kiss. Oh, God, it nearly took Griff’s breath away, the softness of his lips, the wiry graze of his moustache, the faint taste of the beer. His hands fumbled at the band holding Sean’s blond hair back in a tight ponytail. He pulled it loose and wove his fingers up through the strands.
Sean finally pulled back a few inches, breathing hard. “Man, I think we’re fogging up my glasses!” he said.
“We can fix that.” Griff g
rinned a little. He eased the glasses carefully off Sean’s face and set them on the coffee table.
“Of course, now I can’t see shit if it’s more than two feet away,” Sean laughed.
“That’s fine. I wasn’t planning on being that far away.” He pushed Sean down flat on the sofa. It took a moment to rearrange arms and legs so they weren’t tangled. Griff was sprawled on top, hands cradling Sean’s head, his aching erection grinding against one equal to his own. Their mouths were pressed together, tongues exploring, teeth nipping gently. Sean’s hands were cupped around his butt, pulling their bodies harder together.
Griff wanted skin. He wanted to run his hands all over those long, lean muscles, wanted to bend Sean over a bed and… Oh, hell… Griff’s body went still, his head dropping on the other man’s shoulder.
“Griff?” said Sean.
“Uh-huh.”
“Problem?”
“I can’t…”
“Your body sure thinks you can.”
“That’s not what…” Griff pushed himself back up into a sitting position. The number of male partners Griff had had was fewer than his number of fingers. And every single one of them had been before the injury, back when his knee still bent and his balance had been fine.
Sean sat up and ran a hand down the side of Griff’s neck. “Listen, Griff, it’s been a while since my last partner. If you just want to mess around, that’s fine by me,” he suggested.
“Even when it doesn’t hurt much, my knee doesn’t bend but about maybe forty degrees. I… um… I’m not sure exactly what kind of position I can manage.” Oh, God, that was embarrassing.
“So we’ll improvise. Like I said, just fooling around is okay with me. Relax,” said Sean. He drew Griff back down on top of him, kissing him slowly. Griff gave in to just enjoying the hard, muscular form of the man beneath him. Sean’s teeth nibbled at his bottom lip. Jesus, it had been so very long since anyone other than the physical therapist had touched him, and that definitely didn’t qualify as pleasant.
He was grinding himself against Sean’s thigh, fingers tangled in all those soft curls again. Griff buried his face in Sean’s neck and breathed his scent. A faint smell of laundry detergent from the collar of his shirt, blended with a smell that was all male. Strong fingers traced up Griff’s spine, pulling the shirt loose at his waist, diving beneath the fabric, sliding under the waistband of his slacks just an inch or so. Then those fingers eased a little further down. That subtle pressure right at the base of his spine set him squirming.
“Oh, unh… Sean… God… I’m gonna… hell…” The climax swamped his senses. Eyes squeezed shut, the sticky warmth of semen flooded along the waistband of his boxers, all he could hear for a moment was the thunder of his own pulse.
Griff sagged limp as a rag doll on top of Sean. “Fucking hell. I thought I’d passed the teenage lack of control crap,” he muttered. Sean’s hands stroked gently down his back.
“It’s okay. I’m kind of flattered that I got you so wound up,” Sean murmured into his ear.
Griff pushed himself back into a sitting position again. “Your turn,” he whispered. He slowly tugged the belt buckle of Sean’s pants open and lowered the fly. The erection within was stretching hard against the fabric of the navy blue bikini briefs. Griff stuck a thumb under the elastic and pulled them down. Sean’s cock popped free, rigid and damp at the tip. Griff wrapped his fingers around it, stroking. Sean moaned a little and bucked into his grip.
Griff lowered his head and slid his mouth over top of the head. His tongue traced around the entire outer edge of the tip. Huffing little moans came from Sean. Griff leaned forward a little and took as much of Sean into his mouth as he could manage. There was a small keening whine from Sean.
“Oh please, don’t stop,” Sean begged. His tone was fast approaching a whimper. Fingers, tongue, lips --Griff sucked and stroked in a slow, even rhythm. Sean was thrusting shallowly, uncontrollably, and then his breath was a sudden explosive groan as he came. Griff swallowed hard, mouth full of the bitter, salty taste. He wiped his lips on the tail of his shirt and looked up at Sean, who had a soft, blissed-out grin.
“That was… amazing,” Sean said, still struggling to catch his breath. Sean pulled Griff back down on top of him, nuzzling into Griff’s throat, tongue tracing a slow path up toward his ear, nipping on the ear lobe. They lay stretched on the sofa for a number of minutes, hands roaming slowly.
“I… really ought to get cleaned up,” Griff said. He pried himself upright and limped heavily in the direction of the bedroom. He stripped off his slacks and his damp and sticky boxers. He could feel his face heat with embarrassment. He was an adult. Shit like that wasn’t supposed to happen these days. He hastily cleaned off in the bathroom and pulled on that pair of jeans he had tossed across the bed.
Returning to the den, Griff saw Sean slouched comfortably in the corner of the sofa, glasses retrieved, drinking his beer. He had his legs stretched out in front of him across the cushions. Sean crooked a finger and gestured for Griff to sit between his legs. Evidently the young pediatrician was into cuddling.
Amused, Griff decided he could really appreciate the physical contact. He sat down and leaned back against Sean’s chest. Sean nuzzled into the side of his throat. “So tell me more about the places you want to go in the UK,” Sean prompted. They spent the next two hours talking about the places Griff wanted to see, and those he wanted to revisit.
§ § § §
A week and half later, Griff lay flat on the vinyl-covered table in the physical therapy center,
with a large Ziploc full of ice cubes draped across his knee. The intense cold against his joint was passing from the ache stage toward numbness. “Are you about done with your torture session?” asked a familiar voice. Griff twisted his head and glanced back to see Sean.
“Yeah, almost. Are you here with your sister?” replied Griff.
“Yep, I’m the chauffeur. Eventually we’re going to look into getting her a van with hand controls, but that’s a ways off.”
“Um, I can only imagine. It’s been hard enough for me, and I still have feeling in both legs.”
“Can I interest you in dinner? I’ll cook,” suggested Sean.
“Does that translate to a five-star chef meal, or that you can throw something in the microwave?”
Griff teased. “Something in between. I won’t win any awards, but I don’t set off the smoke alarm, either. Oh, I’m on call tonight, but chances are nobody will page me. Come by around six.”
§ § § §
Fettuccini Alfredo with chicken. Creamy, sinfully rich, laced with the earthy scent of fresh basil and slight al dente texture of gourmet pasta. Griff thought it was the best thing he had tasted in months.
“So… did you make the pasta yourself?” Griff asked.
“Uh, no. I don’t have that kind of time, and that’s probably a little beyond me.”
“This is absolutely divine. I’ve been stuck in the ‘throw the box in the microwave’ rut for a while.”
They dumped the dirty dishes into the sink. Griff slid his arms on either side of Sean’s waist, trapping Sean between his own body and the counter. Pressing Sean against the sink edge, Griff kissed him.
“Mmm, you taste good,” murmured Griff.
“Do I get to blame my own cooking?”
“Yeah, but you tasted good even before the Alfredo.” Griff fisted a hand into the hair at the back of Sean’s head, and pulled him deeper into the kiss. Tongue mapping the inside of Sean’s mouth, he could feel Sean grinding into his hip. Sean nipped at Griff’s lower lip, and cupped both hands around his behind to steady him as he squirmed again, getting harder by the minute.
“Bed,” Sean whispered into Griff’s open mouth. He guided Griff in the direction of the bedroom. He pulled Griff down on the bed beside him, kissing with a passionate intensity, fingers working on Griff’s belt. He stroked his fingers down across the hard length trapped by boxers. “Want you,” he whispered.
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Griff’s hands were fumbling with Sean’s shirt, pulling it loose at the waist, roughly shoving it up and over Sean’s head. He buried his face against Sean’s chest, trailing across to a nipple and licking it. Sean moaned and worked harder at shoving Griff’s boxers down. Griff awkwardly lifted his hips and allowed Sean to drag the trousers and underwear the rest of the way off him. He sat up enough to yank off his T-shirt and toss it over the side of the bed.
Sean was hastily stripping off his own clothes, and Griff could feel his own breathing speed up to the point of shallow gulps. He wanted this badly. He had seen Sean naked in the shower that first morning. Even hung over as all hell, the sight had left him aroused. Now the turn on was intentional, and rapidly heading toward something intense. He drank in the long, lean muscles that seemed to scream ‘beautiful surfer boy’ rather than ‘doctor.’
Sean flopped back down beside Griff as soon as he had ditched the last of his clothes. He eased a leg over Griff’s hips and rubbed his own erection against his partner’s.
“Do you top or bottom? Or does it matter to you?” Sean whispered against Griff’s ear. His teeth tugged at Griff’s earlobe, and then his tongue traced a path down the edge of Griff’s jaw.
“I… uh, usually t-t-top,” Griff stuttered. The sensation of wet warmth beneath his ear was interfering with the connection between his brain and his voice. “But I’m… not sure what t-to suggest.” He gulped a harsh breath. Beside him, Sean stilled.
“We could either try sideways with you behind me, which makes the angle kinda awkward. Or, if you don’t mind not being, well… literally on top, I could ride you,” suggested Sean. The thought made Griff’s cock twitch in happy assent.
“Oh, yeah.” Griff gripped Sean’s hips and rolled onto his back, pulling Sean with him. The weight of Sean’s body pressed their arousals together with greater force, and Griff groaned slightly. A smirk crossed Sean’s face, and he dove in to capture a kiss. His thighs straddled Griff’s hips as he slowly pushed himself upright and off in the direction of the edge of the bed. Sean twisted sideways to dig a condom and lube out of the nightstand drawer.