“Knock it off. You’re serious right now? Seriously quitting.”
Joelle lifts her chin, giving me one brief nod.
“What happened to six months?” I ask, grasping at the first straw that comes to mind. “You said you need six months experience to get into the school you want to go to.”
“I’ve been here almost two months. I’ll get the other four months’ experience somewhere.”
Somewhere else, she means.
“Is this about what happened yesterday? Did somebody give you a hard time? Because Bertie—”
“Elliot, please,” she says, blushing. “Just let it go. There’s no need to rehash it. You don’t need me here anymore. The menu is set and from what I hear, it’s working out well. That’s what you hired me for. The rest was all on me.”
“Not the way I see it.” I step forward, crowding her. “You’re chickening out.”
It’s true. I see it, right before she looks away again.
“It was foolish to think we could make this work.”
“So you’re not just quitting, you’re dumping me too. Is that it?”
She’s got tears in her eyes now. I want to ram my first through the wall at the sight of them but in the next moment, all the noise in my head goes quiet. Not even static. Dead silence.
It’s almost a relief.
“Can you tell me why, at least? You owe me that much.” She doesn’t owe me shit, but I’m inclined to be selfish at the moment.
One tear rolls down her cheek, but I don’t care.
I can’t. Not anymore.
“You and Alex,” she whispers. “You’re better off without me.”
“So you’re dumping him, too.” I sit down in the office chair. “You planning to tell him so yourself?”
Joelle swipes at the tears on her face.
“I’m sorry, Elliot. For whatever it’s worth.”
I don’t answer, staring at the black computer screen on my desk. The next time I look up, she’s gone.
I have no idea how much time passes while I sit there staring at the space she had just been standing in. There’s a Joelle-shaped hole in my office.
The noise in my head comes rushing back with a vengeance and I have to get. The fuck. Out.
I have to move. I have to do something. I have to get out of here before I burn the place to the ground.
I swipe open my contacts, dialing Anna. She agrees to come in early and take over for the night. Thirty minutes later, I’m leaving Duckbill. Joelle is long gone. And I’m beginning to think I am too.
* * *
The next time I look at my phone, it’s gotten dark outside. The heavy bag sways in front of me, barely lit by the streetlight outside. It’s dark in the garage too, I realize. I must have forgotten to turn on the lights.
I grab a bottle of water from the minifridge in the back corner, catching my breath. Maybe one more round will do it. One more session and I’ll be able to sleep tonight.
Right. I snort.
The noise in my head screams back to life again, so I cap the bottle and toss it into the corner, advancing on the bag. Same as I’ve done about twenty times since I got home earlier. Or something like twenty. I stopped counting after the first ten.
Sweat pours down my face. I stripped my shirt off at some point after soaking it through. It should be too cold out here for me to go like this, but fuck it. Right now, I don’t feel anything but the weight of the bag.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Alex flips on the light as he comes in the garage. I flinch reflexively but it doesn’t interrupt my flow.
“What does it fucking look like?”
“You’re going to fucking freeze to death, you idiot,” he says.
“Fuck off.”
I don’t stop. I can’t. If I stop, the noise is going to drown me.
Alex is circling the bag like he’s preparing himself to walk in front of it.
“Keep going and you’re going to get hit,” I warn.
He strips off his suit jacket and keeps walking.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, pulling off his tie.
It’s true. We boxed a lot those first couple of years. There were a handful of other guys on Frat Row who liked to mix it up between their bongs and beers. Alex had been the only who laid me out on the regular back then.
He’s out of practice now.
The idea is stirring. It’d be a helluva lot more satisfying to hit him than the bag right now.
I’m not proud of it but goddamn it, it’s true.
* * *
“Fine,” I say. “You want me to lick your ass, I will.”
Alex stops cold, his hand in the process of unbuttoning a cuff.
“I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, asshole,” he says, pulling the sleeve free. He smirks at me. “You want to lick my ass? Fine. Bring it.”
23
Alex
Something’s wrong. Incredibly wrong.
I sense it the minute I pull into the drive. Elliot’s not supposed to be home for at least another three hours at least, but his car is parked out front. And though sunset has come and gone, I see no lights on anywhere in the house.
It’s fucking freezing out here tonight, sleeting now on top of the snow we got earlier. Visions of my friend laid out or hurt or unconscious flicker through my head and I bobble the key trying to get the front door open. My fingers shaking with the cold and fear, I drop the whole damn set when I hear it.
Noises coming from the garage.
The unmistakable sound of fists on leather. Low grunting. Harsh breathing.
My hands are still shaking but the fear begins to recede. Something’s still wrong but Elliot’s at least alive and kicking.
Or hitting, as the case may be.
I drop my bag and coat inside the house and head through the kitchen, opening the door that connects to the garage.
I stop short on the threshold as the door snicks shut behind me.
It’s dark, the only light in the room flooding in from the streetlamp through the small windows near the garage ceiling. The heavy bag sways through the shaft of light, shaking with every hit. Elliot’s clearly been in here for a while.
Even in the dim yellow glow, I can see steam furling up off his skin. Sweat beads on his back. I can see goosebumps ripple across his abdomen as he twists to land another round of hits.
My God, the body on that man. There’s a damn good reason we haven’t sparred in years, and right now I’m looking at it. It was easier to handle back in college. He wasn’t as fleshed out then, and I was the better fighter anyway. I could let him practice a little then lay him out if I couldn’t handle being so close to him anymore. Then things would go back to normal for a week, until it was time to spar again.
Then a couple of years passed. He trained more, got better. Because God clearly hated me, Elliot kept packing on muscle. I was out of practice by then, so when he started winning every time, I stopped letting him challenge me to fights in the first place. It was getting too hard to conceal my own body’s reaction to his, and Elliot’s friendship meant too much to me to fuck things up between us.
It crosses my mind that today, things are a little bit different. Whatever line I couldn’t cross back then… well, that line’s gotten a whole lot smaller and harder to see. And for the first time, Elliot’s looking back at me from the other side. Now I’m staring at his body and wondering why I’ve waited so long, even while it’s tearing out my heart to see him hurting.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I flip the light on and Elliot flinches, but he keeps swinging.
“What does it fucking look like?” he says, not looking at me.
“You’re going to freeze to death, you idiot.”
“Fuck off.”
Any other day, that might piss me off. But tonight, whatever happened to him is written all over his face.
He’s grieving. It guts me to
see it.
I move closer, trying to get a better read on him.
“Keep going and you’re going to get hit,” he says, still swinging. He’s panting, sweat rolling down his face. It’s so cold in here I can see his every breath, but I’m not feeling the chill. Not anymore.
I pull off my suit coat.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I say. He’s looking at me now, considering me. He sizes me up, and already my cock is stirring. I can see it the instant he decides to engage and pop the buttons on my shirtsleeves.
“Fine,” he says. “You want me to lick your ass, I will.”
My heart just fucking stops. I know what he means, I know, but my dick hears exactly what it wants to hear and my pulse doubles.
Elliot panics. I almost laugh, but I can’t manage it yet.
“I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, asshole,” I say before he freaks out for real. The bleak look is gone from his eyes, so I keep talking. “You want to lick my ass? Fine. Bring it.”
I strip off the dress shirt and throw it over my coat. I should be freezing my balls off out here but the anticipation of the fight has my blood running hot.
The air around us is still. The street is empty of cars, but the sleeting rain has picked up, smacking against the windows and metal garage door. The damp air only magnifies the smell of the garage, a heady combination of motor oil, sweat, and dust that to me always reminds me that work gets done out here. It’s a familiar scent, a favorite one, even.
Mixed in with it now is Elliot, and I know that whatever else happens today, I’m never going to be able to set foot in this garage again without remembering this fight.
He moves in first, swinging hard, landing a blow to my stomach that I’m only barely able to absorb and after that, I’m all in. The rest of the world shuts off as all my focus moves to keeping up with Elliot. He’s faster than he used to be, or I’m slower. Probably both. He lands hit after hit, and when I manage a punch past his guard I finally catch on.
“Quit pulling your punches, dick,” I say, dropping my hands and standing up.
“You’re not wearing gear,” he says, not meeting my eyes.
“Never stopped you before.”
“That was different.” He’s still moving, swaying like he’s about to strike, but he won’t. Not now that I’m not engaging him.
“How?” I wait until he looks up at me. “How is it different, Elliot?”
“You know how,” he says. He’s so quiet I have to strain to hear him. He breaks eye contact and I use that split second to move in, snaking an arm under his and wrapping my hand behind his head in a textbook headlock.
Elliot had been a competitive wrestler in high school. He taught me a few things early on, though we didn’t mix it up like this often. It was too much for me, getting this close to him, especially back then.
For some reason, getting too close doesn’t scare me like it used to.
He yanks but not enough to break my grip. I tighten my hold, bringing our bodies together hard, knowing there’s no way he can ignore my erection, pressed up against his back like I am. I’m not sure what I’m doing here with him, like this.
But he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t yell or start ribbing me or laugh.
Elliot goes completely still. For a moment, he stops breathing altogether.
He twists out of my grip, spinning away to face me. I can’t read his face anymore. Elliot shoves me back, hard. The cold cement wall is a relief to my overheated skin. Elliot shoves at me again.
I see the glint of tears in his eyes for only a second before his mouth touches mine. My brain shuts down completely.
Elliot’s kissing me.
The shock of it hits me harder than any punch and for a long moment all I can do is stand there, hands at my sides, letting him do it. When my brain finally catches up, I kiss him back. I give him everything I’ve got, everything I’ve thought about, fantasized about, every wet dream I ever had about him the last ten years. I pour every bit of it into that kiss.
If this is the only one I ever get, I’m going to make it fucking count.
Elliot’s gasping as he pulls away, burying his face against my neck, licking and nipping with his teeth. I can’t get my hands to move fast enough, needing to touch every inch of all that goddamn muscle. I never had a thing for athletes or jocks but Jesus fucking Christ, his body sets me off.
Elliot sucks hard at my neck, one hand sliding up my back, the other working its way down my stomach. When he stops to tug at the button on my trousers, I swear my vision goes gray.
I should stop this, I should talk to him, check in to make sure this is what he wants. I know for damn sure he’s never done this with anybody else. But then his hand slips under my fly and his thick fingers close around my cock and I damn near shoot off at the first touch.
“Commando,” he mutters. “Figures.”
I choke on the laugh, pulling at his jeans, nearly popping the button of his fly off in my fervor to get my hands on him.
Elliot’s staring down at me, not moving his hand, just looking at my dick. I’ve never felt the need to brag about my cock—after a certain point, there’s just no need. But the way Elliot’s looking down at me now makes me want to shout it out to the entire world.
I finally get his jeans open, yanking them down over his hips and that obscenely rounded ass and close my fist on his cock.
Elliot’s eyes slam shut and he groans, bucking his hips up against my grip.
I stroke him hard and fast, not wanting to rush this but desperate to see him lose the last of his control. He’s breathing harder now than he was during his workout. Every thrust of his hips brings his cock in contact with mine. Elliot opens his eyes and looks down between our bodies.
I keep my gaze on his face, sliding a hand to cup his neck and pulling him closer to me. Our bodies flush, pressing my back up against the wall, I grip both our cocks in one hand and stroke up.
Elliot starts to shake.
“Jesus Christ.”
Keeping one hand between us, I slide my other hand down to that incredible ass, pulling him even closer. I can feel the muscles flexing there as he works his hips up against mine.
“Jesus, Alex.”
I lick up the side of his neck, letting Elliot work himself against me, stroking our cocks as one. The friction is delicious, sweat and pre-cum easing the way just enough.
Elliot’s gripping my hips now, pulling me into him in a rhythm I remember seeing him use when he pumped this big cock into Joelle. I commit that rhythm to memory, knowing I’ll be using that information to stroke myself off for the rest of my life. I slide my thumb over the heads, spreading the pre-cum there, lingering over his tiny hole.
Elliot sucks in a breath, his fingers digging in at my hips, and it’s then I realize that touching him is not enough. I want nothing more in this life right now than to find out what he tastes like. I spin us around, pressing him back up against the wall, and drop to my knees.
“Alex—”
“Let me,” I say, looking up at him. When it’s clear he’s not going to stop , I open my eyes as I take him deep, burying as much of his cock in my mouth as I can. When I feel him pressing into my throat, I push myself forward on him just a little further.
“Fuck, Alex. Jesus fucking Christ.”
I back off then take him down deep again. His hands land on my head, tangling in my hair. When I feel them trembling, I thank God I’m already on my knees. That would have knocked me on my ass for sure.
I take him deep yet again, bringing my hand up over his on the back of my head. He opens his eyes at that, looking down to meet my gaze. I push my hand down on his.
He finally gets the message.
The next time I pull off him, I take a deep breath and hold it as I slide my mouth back over that monster dick. Elliot’s grip on my head tightens and he pushes, pushing me onto his cock, inching his way into the back of my throat.
I wait for it, heart
racing, then he holds my head tight and shoves me down on his cock so hard my nose is buried into the skin next to his shaft. He humps against my face, riding for a hot second, then pulls my head back. I take a deep breath and go back, willing him to do it again.
He does.
The third time proves too much. Elliot’s gasping as he fucks my mouth in short, shallow strokes this time, giving me plenty of space to lick him over as he moves.
“Jesus, Alex, suck it. Suck me off. Do it. Make me come. Suck my fucking cock.” Elliot palms his dick, slick with my spit, jerking it fast and holding it against my lips. When I see his eyes roll back in his head, I suck the fat head, pulling hard, and he comes.
Elliot moans, hips jerking, his heat pooling in my mouth as I swallow him down over and over again. My own hand is flying on my cock and it doesn’t take long for me to follow him over the edge, spilling onto the floor between his feet.
Elliot’s hands are still in my hair, and slowly the rest of the world comes back into view. The sleet is coming down hard, battering the garage door. Steam is pouring off both our bodies now, and the cold air begins to register, making me shiver.
I squeeze my eyes shut and memorize the sound as I listen to Elliot catch his breath. I’ve been in love with this man for nearly all my adult life. How I ever managed to convince myself otherwise, I’ll never know. It never crossed my mind that I might be able to love him and someone else at the same time, but Joelle snuck her way in on me too.
For one brief, shining moment, I let myself imagine what we might have, the three of us. Together. Breakfasts at home, Elliot and Joelle bickering over who fixes what. I’d inevitably gain weight, living with those two, but Elliot would train with me and show me how he put on all that muscle over the last few years. Joelle would get off on watching that, I have no doubt. The thought puts a smile on my face.
And maybe, just maybe, a few years from now when Joelle is finished with culinary school and lands her dream job and Elliot’s rebuilt Duckbill and all three of us are ready… just maybe we can start filling the house with some little Joelles. Or little Elliots. Or any combination of the three of us.
Sizzle Page 17