Page 24 of We Were Never Lovers
Sean laughed, bitter. “No, we cannot just forget that somewhere in the last two years I started nailing your ass, come on.”
“See, that right there,” Jack pointed at him with his spoon. “The you that fucks me wouldn’t call it that in that tone and the way we do it we use a lot of, a lot of,” he looked around like he was trying to think of the word. “Trust,” he said and looked atSean again, triumphant. “We use a lot of trust and we… you don’t trust me.”
“You don’t trust me either,” Sean said because that was true.
“I…” Jack faltered. Sean knew what he wanted to say and why he’d abandoned it.I don’t trust this version of you, I trust my Sean.
“Look, let’s just forget last night happened, okay?”
But Sean was already shaking his head. “No fuckin’ way. That was awesome.”
And maybe the Sean who hadn’t been living with Jack for months would’ve been embarrassed to say that. But this Sean, the one who’d had to concede that in close proximity, at this age, almost thirty-year-old Jack was a generous guy, kind and considerate, observant and honest. Up to a point, but he was always striving to be honest. And he was hot as fuck. Sean was not planning to let go of the option to fuck him if it was on the table, which apparently it had been. For some time.
Jack groaned and continued eating, but the blush was rising and Sean knew Jack enjoyed that too. He ate and pondered over Jack’s objections.
“Finished?” Jack asked as he came over, the question pointless since Sean clearly was.
“Yeah, thanks, that was great,” Sean said and smiled up at him.
Jack fumbled with the tray like a school girl who’d just been paid attention by the hottest guy in school. Sean laughed.
“Stop it,” Jack said and took his stuff.
“Stop what?”
“Trying to charm me.”
“Why? Is it workin’?” Sean called as Jack got busy in the kitchen.
“No,” Jack said firmly and changed the subject to Sean’s appointment that morning. But Sean wasn’t fooled—Jack wasblushing, dropping eye contact even as he kept up a steady stream of conversation and helped Sean get ready.
Sean smirked at him whenever Jack met his eyes, which led to Jack huffing, rubbing the back of his neck, fumbling with the band near Sean’s groin when he got the bag over his cast. Just the thought of his fingers so close had Sean’s dick stirring under the pants Jack had placed there, and he wondered how he could manoeuvre the situation so Jack was sliding to his knees in the shower, wrapping his lips around him again—
“Right!” Jack said loudly and stood. “You’re all set. Yell out when you’re finished.”
And he scurried out of the room.
Sean couldn’t help it, he laughed and it felt better than any laugh he’d had since he woke up in the hospital. As the perfectly hot water—not too hot, just the way Sean liked it—cascaded over him, he allowed himself to remember, for the first time since they were teenagers, why he had liked Jack back when they met at the footy carnival.
He’d been walking down the corridor in the boarding school all the teams were staying at, telling himself he was looking for Ben but really hoping he’d bump into the white boy who’d caught and held his attention in that game—the great Jack Reaver. There’d already been some buzz around him before the competition and seeing him in person, seeing him play, solidified the hype. What had been unexpected was the way he smiled so softly down at Sean after the game, the way his warm palm lingered on Sean’s side after they’d done the post-game opposition hand shake. Later that night, when he’d seen him emerge from one of the rooms, loose and relaxed-looking in black trackies, fancy sneakers and a West Coast hoodie, as he’d walked Sean’s way, Sean noticed the way the sharp cut of his jaw, the aloofness in his eyes, this cool guy persona he wore as a teenager, simply melted away and turned into that soft smilewhen he saw Sean coming towards him. He was kind of goofy with the way he tucked his hands into his pockets, mumbled hello, his eyes darting up to Sean’s and down to his feet, but he agreed immediately when Sean asked if he wanted to sneak out, face brightening even more as he looked up and breathed out, “Definitely.”
Sean could still feel the warm line of him at his back as they checked the exit door, scanned for teachers and coaches, recalled the way Jack kept casting glances at him as they raced each other across the oval, like he was delighted and shy about it all at once. And Sean kept looking back and huffing a laugh to cover how giddy he felt.
There’d been something about the easily embarrassed dude behind the cool footy superstar everyone thought he was that’d hooked Sean in and didn’t want to let him go, even when it turned into something else, something he hated, that hook remained. But if he let himself leave aside the bad parts for one moment, remembering only the boy he’d liked, and coupled him with this new knowledge that the adult version was at home on his knees and brilliant with his mouth, Sean could admit that hit him right where he lived. If future Sean had become best mates with him, it must’ve been because of this—this fuck-buddies arrangement. Because they could’ve been buddies, could’ve been more, if everything hadn’t gone to shit the next day.
9
Afew weeks laterand Sean reckoned the term blue balls didn’t quite capture the frustration of being constantly around someone you wanted to fuck. The way Jack’s sun bleached hair fell in his eyes as he huffed a laugh while they played a game of Spit with the cards, his seriousness when he stood up from getting Sean ready for the shower, checking he was all good, and the concerned way he sat next to Sean at all his appointments, asked all the questions Sean should probably be asking, his big hands gesticulating with frustration when the doctors refused to commit to an answer on Sean’s head, a firmer timeline for his leg, whether or not he’d pass new concussion protocols and ever be allowed to play again, he was an all-consuming presence.
Having someone like that in his proximity, the desire wasn’t just in his balls. It was in the vicinity of his dick to be sure, but it was somewhere else too. He wanted to reach for Jack and push him down on the bed, work him open and fuck in when it wasstill too tight, to bite his shoulder while grinding into him, to listen to him make broken sounds, track those sounds until he made just the right one, the one that told Sean he was nailing him just right and he’d hone in on it, take him apart from that point only.
“It’s gonna be alright,” Jack was saying now, hands on the steering wheel, eyes on the road, the uncertainty of that meeting following them into the car, like the sterile smell of the specialist’s office in a fancy townhouse in Mt Claremont had been bottled up and opened again in the space between them with Jack’s words.
And maybe Sean wanted to push Jack down on the bed and lose himself in his body for a few hours so he didn’t have to think about what was said in that office, and Harris’ office the week before, and the news that one of Melbourne’s top draft picks wasn’t even going to get one game after a head injury in training. New concussion protocol meant the league wouldn’t risk further injury, the permanent damage that could come from continuing to play a contact sport.
“Fuck,” Sean breathed out as he focused on the tree-lined street, “I haven’t sheared a sheep in ten years. Don’t reckon I’d be any good anymore.”
“What?” Jack asked. Sean could feel his eyes on him so he turned and met his gaze steadily.
