Page 38 of Fever Dream
I make my way to our team medico meeting in the boardroom for our weekly session run by Tim Masters where we discuss the Fever’s injury list and treatment programs. I’m honestly invested in this team but I’m admittedly only half listening, most of my mind set on getting out of here and joining Casey for the evening.
And I mean, sure, that means Casey swanning about in his little swim trunks and that perfect body on display, something I should be actively avoiding, if only for my sanity. But I am a red-blooded gay male after all and I’m only human.
Tim is detailing the injury treatment for Rowe’s calf strain that he suffered in Saturday’s win, and I try to listen. But Casey is still my number one client at the Fever, so I don’t have a lot of involvement in the treatment of other players at this stage so a lot of this is not all that relevant to my day to day.
The meeting goes overtime, and I am bouncing my legs by the time I make my way back to my desk to collect my gear. Ben iswaiting to give me a lift so I quickly grab my things and turn to leave when I notice the navy and silver Fever jersey folded neatly on my desk. Frowning, I pick it up, unfolding it to reveal a big number 17 underneath the prominent name of Calloway.
I can’t stop the soft smile from spreading across my cheeks. I touch the letters of his name and then bring the jersey to my nose and sniff. It smells fresh and I can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that it’s not one he’s worn. Because, yeah, I’m weird and want to take home something that smells like Casey’s sweat. I’d probably wear it to bed too which is something I think is best we all avoid.
“You ready to go, Thornfield?” Ben asks, hovering in the doorway.
I stuff the jersey into my bag and follow Ben out to the carpark, hoping he didn’t see me standing there like the lust struck fool I fear I have become.
***
I wake up in Casey’s guest bedroom once again. I don’t know why I’m surprised by my complete lack of ability to say no to the guy who is currently curled up asleep on my pillow beside me. I am positive we parted ways at some point last night, but as per usual, Casey ends up in my bed at some point in the night.
He's still asleep, warm breaths tickling my neck, dirty blonde hair mussed against the pillow. He’s so achingly beautiful that it hurts my soul as I give myself a moment to indulge in just looking at him while there’s no one here to judge. He has a dusting of light freckles on his nose, so faint you wouldn’t notice unless you were this close. I want to trace each one of them with my fingers and then follow behind with my tongue.
He wears loose boxers to bed but I can still see the outline of his cock and it kills me that I can only look and not touch. Andthe rest of his body? If perfect was an image it would feature the man lying achingly close to my overheated body.
We’re due to fly out to Adelaide for our next game this morning. I should be waking him up to get ready because I still need to go home to pack. Casey promised he’d drive me home first thing while pleading with me to stay the night last night. It had been far too easy a capitulation on my behalf. I have exactly zero willpower when it comes to Casey Calloway.
He sucks in a deep breath and then burrows his head in closer, mouth teasingly close to my skin. He does this whenever he wakes up, takes a moment to snuggle in close before he opens his eyes. His legs tangle with mine for a bit, his arm crosses my stomach, and I burn.
I only have myself to blame for this predicament.
Sure, I could leave. I could learn to say no to him and just deal with the puppy dog eyes and sad face. But I don’t want to. I love waking up to the feel of him beside me. There’s no better way to start a morning than this, with him. Even though he leaves me so painfully, achingly unsatisfied to the point that chafing is becoming a real-life issue I still wouldn’t change it.
Those blue-green eyes suddenly open and I’m hit with that million-dollar smile that makes all the chafing in the world worth it.
“Morning,” he mumbles. He slides onto his back, hand snaking into his boxers to palm himself like he always does in the morning. I don’t know if he jacks himself off in the shower like I’m forced to do but I love how completely free of shame he is. I do my best to ignore where his hand is situated, not even pretending I didn’t wish it was my hand there instead.
“Morning,” I reply, eyes tracing over each set of his abs as he stretches, lifting his free hand above his head.
“Should probably get up, hey?”
“Yeah,” I say back, not in any hurry to move from my cosy position beside him. He pulls his hand out of his boxers, his morning erection capturing all my attention as he yawns and scratches his abs. Gosh, he kills me.
“Probably don’t have time for morning Pilates, huh?”
“No. Best give that a miss today.”
That seems to make him happy as he grins a slightly smug grin and lifts himself off the bed. I do my best not to ogle but as we’ve already established, I am a gay man and he is nothing short of the finest eye candy this side of the equator.
“Gonna jump in the shower,” he announces, bringing that delightful image to the top of my mind. “What time’s our flight?”
“Ten,” I reply with an arched brow.
“Better hurry then,” he grins before turning and leaving me to melt into a puddle of lava in his lovely guest room.
Casey’s guest ensuite is a beautiful, inviting space with an enormous rain shower head that makes me want to pack up and move in here. There are already signs I have moved in—the toothbrush in the cup holder on the vanity, the shampoo, conditioner and shower gel that Casey bought for me to match what he must have seen in my apartment. He even stocked the vanity with an electric shaver and the moisturiser and cologne I use.
And maybe I’ve started leaving clothes around too, just little things like boxer shorts and t-shirts and swimmers, things that make staying over easier.
I pause when I’m back in the bedroom, hand brushing over Casey’s jersey in my backpack. I know I’ll have to change into my Fever polo before we head to the airport, but I know this will put a smile on his face. Before I can change my mind, I haul it over my head and try not to preen at the feeling of wearing his name on me. Like a brand.
I meet Casey in the stairwell as he hauls his duffel bag onto his shoulder. He does a cute doubletake when he sees what I’m wearing.
