“I’ll be slow,” I say as I pull him into the room and let the door swing shut again. I’m trying to control myself, but my hands and my breath both shake.
“Slow?” he asks, tugging at the bottom of my shirt.
“I just...” I force more air in and out of my lungs, but I can’t help myself when I reach for him to pop open the top button of his pants. “I really want you, Austin. Like,really. Like if I don’t get to fuck you in the next five minutes, I may die of frustration. But you don’t remember and?—”
He kisses me. It’s a mess of lips and tongues and teeth. He threads his fingers into my hair and pulls hard enough I whimper.
“What did I tell you about treating me like I’m breakable?” He growls the words into my mouth.
I’m already turning him and walking us toward the bed.
“Don’t,” I say.
“Right,” he says, still kissing, but he breaks away long enough to pull his shirt over his head, then finishes my work by undoing the rest of his fly and shucking both pants and underwear, until he’s standing in a puddle of clothes with his hands on his hips.
Holy shit.
If Austin from that night was fit—toned and strong from a whole season of competition—then the version of him that has spent the last ten months doing daily rehabilitation and training, working side by side with some of the best doctors and trainers in the country, is absolutely shredded. Muscles I’ve never seen before on myself or any of my teammates ripple under his skin. Tendons and veins strain as he lets me inspect every inch of him. His dick stands straight out from his body, bobbing gently. Also, as I sink to my knees in front of him, I find the raised scar on the outside of his ankle. And the similar one on the inside of his wrist.
“From surgery?” I ask, running my thumb over each.
He swallows hard. I probably shouldn’t ask. He doesn’t want me treating him differently because of the accident, and making him list his scars will only kill the mood.
But his hand goes to his ribs and he puts the pad of one finger to his side, then takes my hand and guides me to the same place. The scar there is smaller, hardly bigger than my fingertip, but the firm circle is noticeably different than the skin around it.
“From the chest tube. It was nearly a week before I could breathe on my own, or that’s what they told me anyway. I don’t remember.”
I kiss it. Each of them. Side, wrist, ankle. The knobby lump where his collarbone knitted itself back together. I say a silentthank youto whatever god or spirit looked over us that day and in the weeks after and decided Austin got to live.
Slowly, he sits down on the edge of the bed, taking me with him. We kiss like that for a while, him sitting down, me on my knees. I let my hands wander. Scars again, the fine hairs on his arms, the flat shape of his nipples. He cups my face, looking into my eyes like I’m something precious.
“I really missed you,” I say. Then, before I say anything else too vulnerable, I drop my head and take his cock in my mouth.
“Oh. Zed.” He gasps as I let my tongue run over the underside of his shaft, finding the long vein that runs there.
“Bear,” I say, letting him go long enough to speak.
“What?”
I’d forgotten until this very second about the different pet name. Not a nickname. Something for the two of us.
“You called me Bear. Back then.”
He draws a thumb over my lips before guiding me back down to his dick. When I take him this time, his gasp is followed by a long low sound, before he says, “Bear.”
It’s all I need. Even if he doesn’t remember, it’s the tie back to that night. That other hotel room. That other life when I was sure we were on a direct path to our dreams. No interruptions. No distractions. I was so wrong in ways that old version of me could never have guessed. But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. We’re back on track.
I work fast. I’ve been waiting all day. All year. My whole life, maybe—though probably not. The nine-year-old version of me who met Austin that day at junior ski team didn’t know suckingon another man’s penis was something people did for fun. Or that someday I’d be doing it with the kid I was about to swear eternal hatred for when he beat me on the hill. Except he’s not a kid now, and holy shit his fingers back in my hair and the soft sound of his careful breathing is the biggest turn-on I have ever experienced.
“Bear. Jesus, Bear, don’t stop.”
I work him harder, taking him deeper in my throat, forcing myself not to gag. My nose is buried in his groin and he smells like soap and the faint scent of sweat. And himself. Austin. I’ve known him forever. Known him like this once before, but it’s even better.
I slide back up so I can take in a fresh breath. I swipe my tongue over his slit and he moans. I could lick him like the sweetest treat all night long.
“I’m gonna come,” he says, gripping the base of his shaft. “I wanna come in your mouth. Can we do that?”
We can do whatever he wants. I stay where I am, focusing on the drops that bead on his slit and the sensitive skin over his flared tip. He lies backward, arms spread out like a sacrifice. His abdomen rises and falls and for a second I hesitate, thinking about the lung that kept trying to fail him and how lucky he is that he gets to breathe at all.
