“Yeah?” The touch of those hands slowed, Coke’s massage turning into a gentle caress.
“I do. Been thinking about it a lot lately, in fact.” He must be really relaxed. Things were slipping out of his mouth.
“Yeah? About…”
“You. Me. Being people. To each other.”Oh. Oh, that touch, right on the arch of his foot.
“Oh. That’s?—”
“Dillon, man? You need a ride to the hotel?” David Donaldson leaned into the dressing room, peering at them.
Coke scooted back a little, gave him room.
He rolled his head over and stared, trying not to snarl. It wasn’t deliberately bad timing. He knew that. David had been a good bud, but not anymore. Now David was just the ex and an unwelcome fucking interruption.
“If you could give Nate a ride, Coke says he’ll wait for me.”
Coke nodded. “I can take him, man. I’m just helping his legs.”
“Okay, then. Holler if you need me, huh?” David flashed them a genuine smile and wave, and headed out.
Damn, sometimes it sucked to be a bitter old bastard. Still, he had Coke to think about.
“Let’s get your legs wrapped up. I’ll give you another rub-down at the hotel.”
Dillon almost whimpered. “Sure. Okay. I can live with that.”
“You can have a soak in the hot tub in between, if you want—or even a hot bath.” Coke pulled out long-assed elastic bandages, started carefully wrapping his leg, fingers so damn hot on his skin.
“I’ll soak if you come with me.” Their last hot tub soak had been brief and short on privacy. Half the guys had showed up. This time, they would all be on the road. It was only the bullfighters and announcers staying on until morning.
“You know my position on hot tubs, son.”
The touch on the inside of his thigh didn’t feel fatherly at all.
“Uh-huh.” God, what he would give to see Coke’s position in hot tubs. Still, his legs thought he might want to just flirt. Even if he was pushing into Coke’s touch like the slut he was.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you. This should feel good.”
“It does. You have no idea.” His cock was telling him that the pain in his legs was fading, the sensation much more pleasurable.
“Good.” Coke started on the other leg, and Dillon could swear that was another moan. Maybe that was him. He wanted to babble. To wiggle. He settled for pushing against Coke a little with his legs, the warmth seeping through him.
“Okay, honey. Let’s get you to the hotel and in some hot water.”
“Okay.” He held out a hand, letting Coke pull him up. Then he leaned on that solid body, hands on Coke’s arms.
“I got you. They hurt bad?”
“Not really.” He had to be honest. “I told you. Melty.”
“Melty is good.” One hand rubbed his lower back, nice and gentle, over and over.
“It is.” Indulging himself, Dillon leaned harder. “Really good. I like the way you feel, Coke.”
That little rumbling sound was a moan.
It was.
