Page 22 of We Were Never Lovers
The way he slid Sean’s tracksuit pants down, caught his cock in his palm, leaned forward, wrapped his lips around the tip and sucked on the crown felt practiced.
Sean brought his other hand onto Jack’s head, both hands gripping him shakily before urging him forward. He groaned as Jack began to suck his dick expertly—sliding down to the base, dragging all the way back to the tip with perfect suction, rolling Sean’s balls in his hand, sliding one finger back to press against his taint until Sean was gasping and rocking into his mouth urgently. Sean never got fucked, with the exception of that one time he never let himself think about, he liked to do the fucking, and until that moment he wasn’t aware he enjoyed anything even near the back door. The way Jack did it felt like he knew Sean liked it. In fact, Sean thought wildly as his orgasm rushed up, as he bit out a warning and gasped when Jack sank down to take it, began to swallow around his length, making these sounds like he loved it, Sean thought—he knows exactly what I like, he knows things I like and didn’t even think to like.
As Sean caught his breath, he felt Jack let him slip out of his mouth and looked down to see him kneeling there, his head resting against Sean’s thigh as he jerked off.
Sean wanted to drop to the ground, to push his hand away, to grab that big dick like he owned it. But he couldn’t get to the floor with his leg in the cast, was only just managing to stay upright.
“Jack.”
Jack made a high-pitched sound and pressed his face against Sean’s thigh.
“Jack, let me.”
Jack looked up, stopping his hand; his eyes were watery, his lips wet.
“I can’t,” Sean waved his hand and felt useless.
Jack unfurled and stood in front of him, pressed in close. Sean wanted to sway forward and kiss him, but that was ludicrous—he’d never kiss Jack again. The fight they’d had in the locker room—the last thing he remembered was thinking he’d fake Jack out, pretend he was going to kiss him and Jack would fall for it; he thought there’d been a moment where Jack had dropped his guard for a second, eyes widening in surprise, a pleased look flashing across his face as he swayed forward and for a moment Sean had forgotten he was messing with him, was about to catch his lips for real. But even though he couldn’t remember it, he knew he’d never fall for that shit again, knew he was imagining Jack looking at him like that.
He dropped his eyes now and reached for Jack’s dick. He stroked down on the side of too tight and Jack gasped, bucking into it. He pulled him off, quick and rough, and Jack moaned softly, muffling the sounds against Sean’s shoulder.
When Jack came, Sean angled it so it painted the front of his shirt. A part of him thought that was absolutely filthy, while another part didn’t understand why he hadn’t taken his shirt off to get it on his skin.
He slumped against the side of the bench, trying to catch his breath, Jack’s dick softening in his hand. He thought he shouldbe freaking out more. A part of him was freaking out—he’d never fuck around with a teammate, which seemed like the least of his concerns in this scenario. He’d never fuck around with Jack.
Jack was catching his breath too, face mashed against Sean’s throat, his breaths damp on the material of Sean’s shirt. Sean wanted to bring the hand not currently holding Jack’s dick around his back and haul him in. His body tensed and his other arm hung at his side, itching to reach up but unwilling to do so.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked and immediately regretted it when Jack went still against him.
He let him go at the same time as Jack pulled away quickly, tucked himself back inside his pants and avoided eye contact.
“Reckon we should get to bed,” Jack said firmly, but he was drunk, so it came out a little slow.
“Yeah, alright, but what—”
“I’m beat,” Jack cut him off and turned away, clearing the beer bottles off the bench and putting them in the recycle bin, the clink loud in the two-in-the-morning darkness of the kitchen. “You alright to get back to bed?” he asked over his shoulder.
Sean was so off kilter, all he could do was snap, “Yeah,” get his crutches under his armpits and hop away. He called Lola and shut the door after she skittered back into his room.
He wrestled his shirt off and threw it at the wall. He wanted Jack with him and it was a confusing, irritating and incongruous thought.
But as he lay back, all he could think about was pressing their naked chests together next time, how he was itching for that contact, so desperate for it, it felt like a particular brand of touch starvation.
8
Sean hopped into theliving room the next morning where he knew he’d find Jack in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, and he was determined to ask what was between them—were they together? As absurd as the thought was, more troubling was if they were, why hadn’t Jack told him?
“Morning,” Jack said brightly, the tone undermined by the bags under his bloodshot eyes, his clammy skin, but the forced cheer was there and with it the knowledge getting him to talk about this was going to be impossible.
“Mornin’,” Sean replied, rote, and hopped over to the couch. Lola looked up at him and wagged her tail. “Hey, girl,” he said and sat down next to her. She was loose and sleepy after her run and flopped her head back down with a sigh, drifting off as Sean patted her.
They had a routine now—Jack took Lola for her run, timed it so he’d be showered and preparing breakfast by the time Sean got up around seven. After breakfast, he’d help Sean getin the shower, covering the cast, handing him everything he needed before making himself scarce. Then it was whatever appointments Sean might have—carefully scheduled before noon each day so Jack could take him before he went to training at the club for the afternoon if he wasn’t doing it from home—and Sean rested, which either involved actual rest because he was shattered from the morning’s activity, or he snooped around on his phone, trying to make sense of the last two years from the internet, but that usually gave him a headache or made him confused, which made him angry, so he turned on the TV and sat with Lola until Jack got back and made them dinner. Then it was a movie or a game—cards, a board game, chess, no more puzzles—before they went to bed.
Except for last night when Jack sucked him off in the kitchen and Sean gave him a wristie. That was a new part of their routine.
“Here you go,” Jack said with a smile as he placed the dinner tray laden with Sean’s usual breakfast, lighter pain meds, coffee and juice in front of him.
“Are we lovers?” Sean asked.
