Chapter Nine
“Take your pants off,” Eliot instructed, businesslike as possible, brandishing the ice pack Danny had told him would be in the freezer. Danny still hesitated, looking at him warily. Eliot sighed.
“You don’t have any parts I haven’t seen before,” Eliot said. “And I assume you’re wearing underwear, anyway. Unless you’re keeping it a secret that you’ve got two dicks or something, pants off.”
“Trust me, if I had two dicks, I wouldn’t be keeping it a secret,” Danny said, sounding more tired and agitated than playful. Eliot’s heart went out to him. It couldn’t be easy for Danny to be injured and in pain, and it had to be even harder to admit it to someone he didn’t know all that well.
Danny tugged the sweatpants he’d worn away from the game down, lifting his hips off the couch so he could shove them down past his knees. Eliot made every attempt not to glance at his groin, but curiosity showed him that Danny filled out his boxer-briefs nicely.
Eliot winced when he looked down at Danny’s knee. It was obviously swollen, the previous surgery scars white against a background of angry, red skin. He sat down on the coffee table opposite the couch Danny was sitting on, and held the ice pack against his knee.
Danny hissed at first, then took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. His face was drawn, pain written all over it.
“I can start telling people you have two dicks, if you want,” Eliot offered, trying to lighten the mood.
He understood the intense sadness he’d sensed from Danny in the first place a little better now. It wasn’t just loneliness. It was also grief over the loss of his career. Maybe even the loss of his physical fitness.
“Pass,” Danny said. “There are people who could prove you wrong.”
Before Eliot could think of a response, Danny’s stomach rumbled. He laughed without really meaning to, grateful for something else to worry about. Something he could fix, rather than something he couldn’t.
“I signed up for a fake boyfriend and I got a toddler instead,” Eliot joked. “First I’m tending to a boo-boo you got while you were playing, and now you can’t feed yourself.” That at least got a tiny smile out of Danny.
“I wasn’t actually going to complain that I was hungry in a high-pitched whine, but I can if it’d make the experience more authentic for you.”
Eliot laughed at that, his mood picking up. He was still sad for Danny, but he didn’t want to be miserable and bring him down any more than he already was. “You sound like a man who has experience with that kind of thing.”
“I have a nephew back home. He’s awesome, but oh man does he understand the art of complaining.” Danny smiled. It was obvious that he thought fondly of the kid in question.
“You hoping for some of your own one day?” Eliot asked. Every time he thought he had a handle on what Danny was really like, the other man surprised him again.
“Yeah,” Danny said, taking the ice pack over from Eliot. “You?”
Eliot chewed on his lip. He could be honest with Danny. It was actually surprising how honest he felt he could be. “I’d like to be the father my father wasn’t,” he said softly. “So yeah. A kid would be cool.”
“Huh. Didn’t take you for the type,” Danny said. “That’s cool, though. I hope it happens for you.”
“You, too.” Eliot stood. “Am I ever going to hear the end of it if I make you a sandwich?”
“Dude, order a pizza. You don’t have to wait on me.”
Eliot shook his head. “We’re in the middle of a night of passion, we’re not pausing to order a pizza. Trust me, your delivery guy knows who you are.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “You don’t stop to eat?”
“Not ten minutes after starting.” Eliot laughed. “Look, I’m starving too, and I’m raiding your refrigerator whether you like it or not. You can either share in the spoils or go hungry.”
Danny, who had already opened his mouth to protest, shut it with a click. He cleared his throat, and then opened it again. “A sandwich would be amazing.”
Satisfied, Eliot headed to the kitchen to throw something together for them to eat. Thankfully, Danny clearly believed in keeping a fully-stocked fridge.
When Eliot got back to the living room, Danny was dozing on the couch, the ice pack discarded. There was a bruise spreading along the side of his thigh, the skin turning purple. He’d feel that in the morning. Eliot didn’t necessarily remember him taking a hit, but there’d been so much to pay attention to that he hadn’t really been able to follow everything.
He had tried to figure out how hockey worked, but he didn’t really understand. He got that the basic principle was to score more points than the other team, but that was the limit of his knowledge.
“What position do you play?” he asked, figuring he wouldn’t have to feel guilty for waking Danny up if it was to talk about hockey.
Danny started, groaning as he sat back up. His eyes widened when he saw the pile of sandwiches in front of him. “Best fake boyfriend ever,” he enthused, reaching out to take one. “Uh, I play center. It’s kind of like being the quarterback.”
