Second Chance

by Van Barrett

  “Wow. Fate.” Rust let out a choppy burst of laughter; he wasn't sure what to make of the giddiness he felt in his heart. “I don't even know what to say.”

  “Don't say anything, then. Just sit with me.”

  Clay squeezed Rust tight again, and their sides pressed together, and they basked in the warm glow of the fire.

  “This just feels so right,” Clay said. “Me and you again.”

  Rust agreed. “Yeah.”

  25

  Long Time Coming

  – Clay –

  Man, Clay thought to himself as he and Rust huddled together in front of the fire. Can't believe this is real.

  Because this moment was so similar to all the dreams he'd had over the past ten years. From the star-studded sky, to the smoky smells and crackling sounds and toasty warmth of the romantic fire, to the long, heart-felt confessions. Clay couldn't shake the fear that he might wake up at any moment and be crushed as he looked around his empty bedroom and realized that he and Rust still hadn't spoken to each other in a decade.

  But, no. As hard as it was to believe, Clay knew this moment was real. He'd finally done it, finally gotten his own second chance to make things right. And he wanted to make good on it.

  “Thanks for telling me all that, Clay,” Rust said.

  “Buddy. Thank you for giving me the chance. I thought I blew it with you—permanently.”

  Rust chuckled. “So did I, honestly.”

  “And that's why I stayed away for so long. So for me to actually be sitting here with you again? Ugh. Rust. There's so much I want to do and say to you, but—I don't want to fuck it up again.”

  Rust let out a light, seductive laugh. “… Like what?” His eyes looked so big and soft in the glow of the fire.

  In a moment of weakness, Clay's focus darted down to Rust's lips. Ugh, those lips—he'd thought so much about them in the time they'd been apart. So pink and glossy and full.

  “Like, your lips,” Clay whispered hoarsely.

  Rust smiled. “What about them?”

  “I never got the chance to kiss your lips. That was one of my biggest regrets.”

  “Oh … well …” Rust started to shyly turn away.

  But Clay knew this was his moment to chase. He cradled his hand behind Rust's head and brought him back face-to-face. Clay didn't waste any time—Lord knows life was too short, and he'd already wasted enough time.

  He leaned in and their lips, at long last, embraced. Like the dry soil taking its first badly-needed sip of rain after a terrible drought, they drank each other in and stirred into one.

  Lips locked, tongues touched, and Clay tightened his fist on Rust's hair, his auburn locks sticking out from between his knuckles. He wanted to make sure that this time, he never, ever let Rust go.

  The crinkle-crackle of the fire and the quiet, steaming hiss of a log was the only background noise to their wet kisses, their passioned grunts and groans, huffs and moans.

  When more needed to be said, Clay had to pry himself away from Rust's mouth—but he kept his forehead pressed into his old friend's, never letting him get far away.

  “Rust.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I meant what I said earlier, about you staying here as long as you like.” Clay paused. “What I'm trying to say is … I want you stay with me until you get better, Rust. Let me take care of you.”

  Rust let out a stunned gasp. An eternity seemed to pass.

  “Clay … I don't know what to say …”

  “I'll take care of you as best I can. Whether it's a week or a year, or even if, y'know—if you decide you can't go back to hockey and you'd rather stay out here altogether.”

  “Clay,” Rust whispered.

  And their mouths came together again, their hot kisses more urgent and more desperate than ever before. A head fell back, exposing a muscled neck that was ripe for sucking. Fingers brushed against the grain of coarse stubble. Brawny pecs rose and fell with racing breath. Hands groped and squeezed.

  Eager hands slid lower—always lower—the touch always lighter.

  And cocks started to lengthen, harden and expand, filling the crotches of their jeans.

  And those hungry hands always slid lower, lower, lower—down the chest, down the abs, down the waist—moving teasingly closer and closer to those hard, growing bulges, but never touching.

  Finger-tips traced the denim outlines of their big, hard, throbbing dicks—until both men were so horny and so excited, they moaned into each other's mouths. They were begging for one real, actual touch—fingers wrapped around hard, pulsing cock—but also knowing the power of not granting it just yet.

  It had, after all, been ten years. What was a few more minutes?

  When Clay couldn't take it anymore, he dropped to the ground. He scooted along the grass on his knees until he crouched between Rust's legs.

  “Oh,” Rust gasped, his legs spreading open for Clay.

  Clay reached up, popped Rust's waist-button open, and yanked his zipper down. He tugged at the leg of Rust's jeans, working the pants over the professional athlete's hard mounds of leg muscle.

  And then his pants were off, thrown aside into a heap.

  Clay looked up and grinned at the sight of his old friend and lover. The twisted and conflicted look of sweet pleasure and the agony of anticipation. The big, arousing shape that protruded up, straight up, from his white silk boxers.

  Clay bit his lip and, finally, finally!, rubbed the palm of his hand over the head of the bulge in Rust's boxers.

  “Oh fuck!” Rust grunted right away, and a wave of spasms shook his whole body.

  “Got you excited, didn't I?”

  Rust swallowed loudly and nodded.

  Clay found the slit in Rust's boxers. Carefully, he opened the slit and worked it over Rust, until his dick and balls were threaded through it.

  Clay licked his lips at the sight of the big, heaving cock before him, and the lovely set of smooth but hefty balls. Rust's cock looked the same as it had ten years ago—still succulent and mouth-watering. And the sight of it still made him want to swish and swirl his tongue all over it.

  Only difference between then and now?

  Now, he actually had the courage to do what he wanted.

  Clay leaned forward. The sweltering warmth of Rust's dick was against his face; the heat of the fire was at his back. He leaned closer, and the essence of Rust flooded his nostrils. That scent was purely him—salty, woody, male.

  With Rust's manhood between his eyes, he stuck out the tip of his tongue and dragged it, slowly, upwards. From the base of his cock, all the way to the very tip.

  And when he reached the summit, Rust's whole body exploded with another great, trembling jolt.

  “Oh, God!” Rust roared into the night sky.

  Clay grinned. It was the naughty smirk of a man who had taken his first taste of cock and realized he loved it even more than he imagined he would.

  Clay made another long, tortuous tongue-stroke up Rust's dick. Again, Rust tensed up—until Clay's tongue reached his crown and fluttered on his sensitive glans. Then, Rust erupted with a great roar, his trembling body awash in ecstasy.

  “Man,” Clay mumbled as he stroked Rust with his hands. “This is fucking hot.”

  Rust panted, his chest heaving. “Oh my God Clay, you got me so hard, dude.”

  Clay smiled. “Wanna know a secret?”

  “Fuck,” Rust gasped, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Lay it on me.”

  “I wanted to do this to you that day in the car-wash. I probably would've, too, if you didn't cum so fast …”

  “Aw, fuck! Really?” Rust chuckled. “I got too damn excited!”

  “Yeah. That's okay. I don't blame you … I was pretty excited too.”

  Clay slurped up one of Rust's balls, squeezed his lips tight around it, and pulled—until his nut burst out of Clay's mouth with a pop and crashed into his thigh. Rust yelped and moaned, mired in some state between pain and pleasure.


  “Well, that explains it,” Rust said once he caught his breath.

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you gave me a hand-job and said we were 'even.' I always wondered about that.”

  Clay's eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You wondered about that part, and not the part where I swore I was straight—moments after I beat you off in a car-wash?”

  “Pft.” Rust smiled. “I knew you were full of shit, Clay. But it wasn't my place to convince you. Hell, it's partly why I was so damned mad at you all along.”

  “Fair.” Clay nodded. “Now just sit back and … shhh …” He put a finger to his lips as he leaned forward.

  Rust's eyes twinkled like the stars as he watched Clay's mouth move closer and closer to his erect flesh.

  At last, Clay opened his mouth, wrapped his lips around Rust's cock, and pushed down.

  Mm, Clay moaned, voice muffled, as Rust's warmth slid along the flat of his tongue and filled his cheeks. Rust's male presence slid deeper, touching the back of Clay's throat.

  Mm! Clay groaned, nearly gagging, as Rust's bigness triggered his gag reflex.

  Whoa, he thought, maybe this won't be as easy as I thought.

  But Clay worked at it and did all the things he knew a guy liked: he tried to take Rust as deep as he could, his tongue guiding him deeper into his mouth while also thrashing against his sensitive underside.

  When Clay pulled off him, he sucked all the air out of his cheeks—to please him with the tight suction—and corkscrewed and swiveled his way back up Rust's impressive length.

  He kept one hand wrapped firmly around Rust's smooth scrotum, kneading and caressing his nuts in his palm. He gently tugged and squeezed at Rust's swollen, sensitive balls.

  Clay made a big, sloppy, noisy show of slurping at Rust's manhood. It might have been Clay's first time sucking cock, but he wasn't too shy to talk dirty. He knew how a little dirty talk could make a man feel so good—

  “Fuck Rust, your cock is so big.”

  “I love your taste …”

  “You're so hard, bud.”

  “Mmm, wow. I can feel your big dick throbbing in my mouth.”

  And, finally, when he knew all these things had dragged Rust to the limit? Clay teased him with his open, gaping mouth—his tongue stuck out like a landing pad—and begged for his manly seed.

  “Please, cum in my mouth. I want it, Rust, I want your cum. All in my mouth.”

  Rust was suddenly compelled. He stood to his feet in a hurry, aimed his cock over Clay's waiting mouth, and stroked himself as he belted out an orgasmic roar.

  “Fuck! I'm cumming! Aaaaaghhh!”

  Jets of warmth spurted into Clay's open mouth, splattering the back of his throat. Rust kept stroking, pumping more and more cum, and threads of his cum splattered Clay's tongue. Clay waited, mouth still gaping open, until Rust stopped shooting.

  Then, he leaned forward, wrapped his lips tight around Rust's still-hard cock, and pushed him back into his mouth. Clay swallowed, taking Rust's seed right down his throat, and slurped and sucked every last drop of cum from Rust's cock.

  “Oh, fuck,” Rust shivered with delight and stumbled backward onto his granite rock. “Fuck, Clay.”

  Clay wiped at his mouth.

  “Did I do okay? First time, you know.”

  “You did awesome.” Pause. “How'd I taste?”

  “Not bad,” Clay grinned, sucking his finger-tips clean. “Little salty, but that's what they always say it tastes like. A little sweet, too.”

  Clay rose from his knees and took his spot next to Rust on the rock. They put their arms around each other and leaned their heads against one another's.

  Rust's hand snuck over, into Clay's lap. He found a handful of hard dick, and started gently tugging.

  “Guess I gotta return the favor, don't I?”

  “Ooh. That feels good,” Clay grunted, wanting to lose himself. But then he shook his head. “But shit, Rust, it's getting late and I have to be up first thing in the morning.”

  “Yeah,” Rust sighed, disappointed but understanding, too. “I should probably hit the sack, too. Shouldn't push myself too hard.”

  Clay stood, a visible erection running down the thigh of his jeans. “C'mon.” He held out his hand to hoist Rust to his feet.

  26

  No More Time to Waste

  – Rust –

  Hand-in-hand, Rust and Clay walked through the grass and headed for Clay's house.

  Sleep was a good idea: Rust had gotten a lot of it over the past couple months because his body had needed it. It was great that he was feeling better now, but he knew it wasn't wise to push himself so soon. His symptoms had only let up for one day, after all. And it had been one long, exhausting day—even though it was ultimately one very satisfying day: the culmination of ten years' worth of wonder, guilt, and shame, and all those other frazzled emotions that Rust didn't have to torture himself with anymore.

  But, besides that—as far as Clay was concerned? Rust didn't want to push things too fast in that regard, either. Going to bed now and getting a good night's rest—instead of being all over each other—was the smarter decision.

  Clay opened the back sliding door, and they both stepped into the house. There was a short and sweetly awkward pause as they stood in the living room. Clay's bedroom was on one end of the house; the guest bedroom was on the other. This was where they either went to bed together, or their paths would split once again.

  “Um,” Clay chuckled and scratched at his neck. “D'you wan--”

  Rust quickly cut him off at the pass. “--I should sleep in my bed.”

  “Right,” Clay said, but he couldn't hide his disappointment.

  It didn't necessarily feel like the right decision, but it was the decision he was making.

  Better to not take things too fast, Rust reminded himself.

  They kissed, hugged, said goodnight, and retreated to opposite ends of the house.

  ***

  Rust stripped out of his clothes and climbed onto that old, stiff mattress. He laid on top of the quilt and shut his eyes.

  The grandfather clock reliably announced each passing second: tic … toc … tic … toc.

  And it was a funny reminder that so much time had passed between them. Rust thought back to what Clay had said about his reasons for disappearing all those years ago.

  He hated it, like he'd said, but he couldn't deny that Clay was probably right. He would've been excited to rush back home to Hershey. He would've wanted to know what Clay had thought of the games he'd played while he was in Washington—because Clay would surely be at home watching.

  He wouldn't have played like somebody with nothing to lose—that was for sure. Which was exactly how Rust had played during that first stint. And back then, it was true: he had nothing to lose.

  But in the years since, he hadn't gained much, either.

  Sure, he had money and fame, he had a career he could be proud of. He had a loving family, too—Mom, Dad, aunts and uncles—but they still didn't know the real him. He planned on telling them someday … maybe when his career was over.

  Because if word got around that he was gay while he was still playing professional hockey? Well, who knows how that would've changed things with the boys. Or what the media would say. Or, hell, if the team would want to offer him a contract renewal once he came out.

  It was a risk he didn't need to take.

  It was easy, then, to wish that things had gone down differently with Clay. But, looking back, Rust understood it. It sucked, but it was the reality of the situation. And they were both who they were today because of it.

  And now he didn't want to miss out on any more time than he already had.

  Only a few minutes had passed, but Rust knew he wasn't going to get to sleep easily tonight.

  He quietly snuck out of his room and tip-toed down the hall, to the other end of the house.

  ***

  Clay's door was cracked open. Rust quietly opened it wider and s
tepped in.

  “Pst. Hey Clay.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You asleep already?”

  “No. What's up?”

  “You mind if I sleep in here, with you?”

  Clay chuckled. “Sure, buddy, I'd love it if you did.”

  Rust jumped into his bed. “Thanks. The clock's too loud in there.”

  “It is?” Clay asked innocently.

  Rust fought off a laugh as he slipped under the covers. “Not really. My mind's just going a million miles a minute and I'd rather be in here with you.”

  Once he was under the sheets, Clay clamped him tight with his arms and legs. And, judging by the hard flesh poking against Rust's sides, he wasn't wearing underwear, either.

  “That's right. I forgot you slept naked,” Rust chuckled, remembering the hundreds of time he'd walked into Clay's bedroom in the morning to find him still sleeping, bed-sheets twisting all around his legs, and his morning wood, in all its glory, gently rising and falling against his hard, muscled abs. “I guess some things never change.”

  Clay let out a laugh of his own. “You used to give me such a hard time about walking in and seeing my boner.”

  “That's because I hated how much it made me want to do … this.”

  Rust wrestled an arm free of Clay's bear-hug, wrapped his fingers around Clay's bare cock, and started tugging.

  “Oooh,” Clay groaned.

  “What do you think would've happened, Clay,” Rust asked as he kept stroking Clay, “if we did make it to the NHL together. Just humor me.”

  “Hm.” Clay thought it over for a second. “We would've gotten caught. Guaranteed.”

  “You really think so?”

  Fap fap fap, was the fleshy sound of Clay's humid cock and balls swaying and bouncing as Rust jerked him.

  “Oh yeah,” Clay answered him. “With as much time as we spent together, I'm actually surprised no one in Hershey figured it out before we did. Someone definitely could've wised up to the fact that something was going on there.”