Page 57 of We Were Never Lovers
“Of course, thanks, Jack,” she beamed up at him.
“Yeah, course,” he smiled before jogging over to Sean.
“Hey,” he grinned.
Sean clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s more like it,” he said, smirking. They started for the tunnel and Sean leaned closer. “Reckon I must got a magic dick.”
Jack barked a startled laugh.
“And he doesn’t deny it,” Sean said, falling into pace beside him, hands still tucked in his pockets, his bad leg only limping slightly.
“Not the first time I’ve heard it,” he replied, which was true. To hear it again made him nostalgic and hopeful. He cracked his neck from side to side to distract himself.
Sean looked up at him, raised both eyebrows. They were almost at the locker room doors.
“Just,” Jack leaned down and whispered against his ear, “your magical dick’s been my slump buster for a while now.”
Sean snorted a laugh. “And what do I get outta this?”
“Your dick wet?” Jack said, his face splitting into a smile.
Sean rolled his eyes, shoved him gently and opened the door for him.
It wasn’t the same as before, it never could be, Jack thought, but it was something else. The way Sean put him on his stomach the night before, fucked him until he couldn’t think of anything but that thick cock carving a space inside him, while Sean mouthed at his throat, whispered that Jack was doing so good, taking it so good, was so good, it was pretty damn close to what it’d been before. Except Sean left after a short cuddle, he didn’t kiss him goodbye, he didn’t lie in bed with him after and ask him a bunch of questions like what Jack thought of how Melbourne were playing or where Jack wanted to go in the offseason or if Jack still didn’t want to tell anyone about them.
Getting fucked and held by Sean made him feel better, made him feel closer to Sean, but it wasn’t everything and Jack couldn’t tell him everything. There was no way to explain what they were because all the bits that led to that were missing andyou can’t just skip those parts. And the only thing worse than not having Sean as his boyfriend was Sean not believing he was his boyfriend. It was a rejection he couldn’t face.
He brushed his hand over Sean’s lower back as he went for his place in the circle to sing the team song, herding Sean to stand beside him. He looked into his face as they roared out their win and Sean glanced up, grin in full force, brown eyes shining and holding Jack’s for a moment, but it wasn’t the same as last year and maybe never would be.
21
The bass vibrated throughSean’s feet, the strobe lights swept the room and lit up the boys huddled around the high tables at the edge of the club, some of them dancing terribly on the dance floor. He nursed a diet coke, leaned across the table to hear what Ben was saying.
“Jack says ya lookin’ so good ya might be back this season,” he yelled.
Sean snorted. He turned so he could yell back and Ben met him by turning his head, ear facing Sean. “Jack’s a fuckin’ cheerleader from another life, come back to haunt us.”
Ben laughed. He turned to grin at Sean as he shook his head, teeth white against his brown skin. They’d hit it off the first day they met when they’d both been selected for The Great Southern Twenty and the team met up in Perth the weekend before the games—Ben liked to talk and Sean didn’t mind listening, nodding his head in agreement in all the right places.
“You’re alright eh, cuz?” Ben had told him after their first training session together; it lilted up like a question, but it was a statement. “Goin’ places.”
“You too,” Sean replied, and that was that.
Their share house those first few years playing for Freo had been a renovated place in Coogee with ocean views if you climbed up on the roof. The trainers would’ve had their balls if they knew they regularly climbed an old ladder to sit on the roof and drink beers, talk about everything and nothing with whoever else was around. With the open-door policy it was rarely just the two of them—mob from back home visiting, other players, and after that first year, Ben’s girlfriend, Lara, became a regular fixture in his room, in the kitchen, using the shower. She was nice, easy going, a white girl from Geraldton, a physio student Ben met when she did an internship with the team; she smiled at Ben when he talked, like she was just happy listening to his voice, did it when Ben wasn’t looking at her. Sean thought that was probably a good thing since Ben rarely shut up. He thought about the smells of the place—burnt toast, piled up laundry, window cleaner when Ben went on a tear and cleaned all the rear facing windows that caught the full force of the setting sun. The sound of the floorboards creaking, of Ben telling him to hurry the fuck up before training, his joking bitching as Sean strolled out to meet him with his bag slung over his shoulder and a sharp retort that he’d been ready for hours. He missed it, missed knowing what he was supposed to be doing every day, knowing where he belonged.
Ben leaned over again and Sean gave him his ear. “Ya doin’ alright?”
With anyone else, Sean would give the platitude. But this was Ben.
Ben turned and Sean shouted. “Dunno.”
Because it was true. Physically, he was making a good recovery. His future was still uncertain because of his head injury, but he was physically fine—no headaches, no sickness, no blurred vision. If it wasn’t for the mood swings and the absence of two years, the scars on his scalp hidden by his hair now, you’d never know he’d been hurt. His leg wasn’t a hundred percent and the limp irritated the shit out of him, but he was tracking well. Jorge was convinced he’d be as good as new by next season.
Ben nodded. “Jack said.”
“Said what?” Sean pressed close to ask.
“Ya know,” Ben said, paused. “Ya’re good, ya’re always good, but ya have some bad days. Said you’ll be fine, but.”
