by Emrys Apollo
THE WILD HEART
CHAPTER ONE
Sean was not happy.
To be fair, he wasn’t exactly unhappy, just not his usual bright self.
It was the alcohol, he thought dully, looking at his half-finished cup of amber liquid. It always slowed his usually whirring mind and it made him think of his Clint.
He usually managed to stop himself thinking of Clint, except for the nights when his hands slid into his shorts and, the point was, he didn’t think of Clint very often.
Sean forced himself not to look for him and instead turned to Maurice, who was still ranting bitterly about the argument he’d had with his wife last night. Sean stretched his legs out. They were both sitting against the wall on the floor, apart from the rest of the party. Sean had tired himself out dancing and Maurice had just wanted to talk.
Maurice and Clint had just arrived at Abel Hill from Ivern, fresh from a glorious championship win – one of the best parts of being a professional athlete. It still awed Sean that Clint had won it twice-but then everything Clint did was jaw-dropping these days.
Sean had been the one to suggest an impromptu party to celebrate, and he’d always been good at rallying the troops. The whole team had trooped down to the hotel’s tiny party room-their main hall was booked for another event-which Sean had wheedled a cleaning lady into opening just for them.
Seeing Clint again was both a torture and a joy, but tonight, he was determined to focus on the latter. He wanted a fun night, one of dancing and laughter so that he could get over that first meeting.
He called it The First Meeting Syndrome. It was what happened when he saw Clint again after some time apart. His senses became so flooded with Clint that he often did irrational, overtly sentimental things. Once he'd sobbed so hard that he'd had to pretend the fried chicken commercial had made him hungry and cranky. He still didn't know how Clint had bought it, and since then he'd had to enthuse about fried chicken in such a way that it seemed believable that he'd once wept over it.
In short, he’d learned the hard way. That he had to lessen the blow of it all, and what better way to diffuse sexual tension and pathetic pining than alcohol? And loads of it.
“How can she blame me? She knows we’re not allowed!”
Sean nodded absently, secretly thinking that Maurice was a fool. Why say no to your wife just because the coach had forbidden sex?
“You don’t know how lucky you are, Sean,” Maurice said, his head dropping against the wall. “No stress.”
“Mm.”
“I mean, you know what I have to go through? She just doesn’t understand.”
Sean stayed quiet. He’d always been incredibly careful, even when drunk, not to say anything, but suddenly he felt himself becoming furious with Maurice for assuming he had it easy.
He knew what everyone thought about him. Happy-go-lucky, bubbly, mischievous Sean, who played in one of the greatest leagues, was one of the top strikers, had a beautiful son. Lucky, lucky Sean.
It was true. He was lucky. His son was the love of his life and even if it hadn’t worked out with the mother, they were still friendly. Not everyone had such an understanding ex, and although his season had been filled with injuries, he had still come out the top goal scorer of the league, and, yes, his club had suffered a lot of disappointments, but he was confident they’d do better next season.
He was sure they would win, especially when Clint was in that kind of form.
Sean had money, family, his looks, and he had football.
So all in all, he had it good. He knew that. He was fully aware of how blessed he was.
But that didn’t change how things were with Clint. How sometimes he simply ached with it all, how difficult it was to always pretend, always hide, how tiring, how exhausting it could all be.
“Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to be you!” Maurice said, grinning, breaking into his reverie. “So many girls and no worries, am I right?”
Later, Sean would blame the alcohol. He had no other explanation for why he suddenly snapped. Certainly, many others had made the same joke. “Lucky!” he exclaimed bitterly. “Yeah, I’m so fucking lucky.”
Maurice looked wary. “Why, aren’t you?”
Sean snorted. He tossed back the rest of the drink. “Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I don’t-“ He snapped his mouth shut abruptly, aware that he was breaking his cardinal rule. Shut up shut up shut your goddamn mouth, he thought desperately.
But his head was swimming. Rational thought had flown out of the window. The need to prove to Maurice that he had it better than Sean was suddenly overwhelming. “You don’t-you don’t even know, Maurice,” he mumbled, aware that he was sounding drunk and unable to stop himself anyway.
“Tell me, Sean.” Maurice’s voice was dangerously soft, dangerous because it made Sean want to tell him. It made Sean want to trust him, and he knew better. He knew how well he'd guarded this secret.
But, goddamn, it was lonely. He had been carrying it around for years, the unbearable thing that never ever gave him peace.
Suddenly tired, Sean closed his eyes. “Why doesn’t he love me back?” His voice came out quieter than he expected and he felt a giant wave of fury at his own mouth, that betrayer of all things sacred.
Maurice’s head snapped around so fast Sean swore he heard a crick. “What?” he breathed.
And that was when Sean knew he was done for. Maurice was a dirty dog, who’d never give up on a single damn thing- Sean could see him fighting with the Devil himself- and he wouldn’t rest until he’d extracted every piece of information from Sean.
But that didn’t mean Sean couldn’t fight. He was Sean Richardson, for God’s sake, and damned if he was going to give up his biggest secret with nothing less than a war.
But right now there was the little matter of him being drunk as a skunk and Maurice being-well not quite as drunk.
“Um,” Sean said cleverly, eyes involuntarily straying to Clint. Who was as usual completely oblivious and laughing at Paxton’s jokes. Paxton slung an arm around Clint while he talked and Sean’s eyes narrowed.
He hated Paxton.
With a huge effort, he dragged his mind back to Maurice, who was shrewdly looking between him and Clint. Damn it, Sean thought. Had it really been that easy? Had he really been that stupid that he’d given it all away with a look?
Truly, he was never drinking again.
He pasted on a broad smile and said, “How’s your anus now?”
Maurice’s eyes were so wide, Sean worried if he’d tear his eyelids too. “Sean,” he said, staring at him.
Sean felt something inside him waver. But he continued smiling. “Maurice”, he sang back, waggling his eyebrows. “Don’t be so serious! You know I love being dramatic.” He winked sloppily, too drunk to get it right.
But he knew it was over. Maurice’s expression was so serious that Sean sighed.
Not one drink again. Ever.
Maurice leaned in and hugged him suddenly, tightly. He wasn’t prone to sentiment and the gesture of it overwhelmed Sean. He swallowed hard, willing that tight ball of emotion in his chest to just go away but he felt his eyes prickling.
Fuck.
And suddenly it occurred to him what this meant. Maurice knew. Someone knew his secret. He knew the world had been calling them lovers, he knew everyone loved their relationship, but no one really believed it was anything other than friendship, anything other than brotherhood.
And now he had involuntarily given it away. He felt his heart pounding. His hands were damp. He sucked in air, but couldn’t get the fear away.
Maurice must have felt his heartbeat because he rubbed his hands up and down Sean’s back as if he was nothing more than a damn baby.
; Sean felt a watery laugh escape him. This wasn’t how he’d pictured his night going.
Maurice pulled back and said, “It’s okay. I won’t-” and he shook his head.
Though Sean knew Maurice wouldn’t tell Clint, wasn’t it possible he’d tell Fiona, his wife? And then she’d tell someone else and that someone else would tell another person?
Until finally it would come back to Clint.
He squeezed his eyes shut. What had he done?
“Hey.”
Sean snapped his eyes open as he felt a nudge on his foot. He craned his head up to look at Clint, standing near him, smiling, eyes soft. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
Sean wondered if Clint had ever guessed. Whether he’d ever wondered why Sean was so loving, so generous, so patient with Clint. What if he’d known all this time?
God, he was spiraling out of control, acting like a nut. He needed to get a hold of himself. Now.
“Clint! Championship winner!” Sean grinned. He patted the ground next to him.
Clint plopped down. He sat close to Sean, arms brushing against him. Sean felt Maurice watching them intently and, to his horror, felt a blush working its way up his face.
Was Maurice crazy?
Sean elbowed Maurice, but his hand slipped backwards and hit the wall. He ignored the pain and Maurice’s smirk and turned to Clint. Who was looking across the room at Paxton and laughing as he danced sloppily with Roger.
“Paxton is crazy, huh?” Sean blurted, unable to stop himself, willing himself to stop being jealous.
Clint grinned. “Yeah, he was telling me some wild story.” He shook his head. “You have to hear it.”
Sean could feel Maurice’s pitying eyes. He wanted to kill him. “Oh, great, yeah, I will,” he said, then rose abruptly, sloshing his drink a little. “I’ll go turn myself in,” he continued brightly, turning back to Maurice and Clint. They looked surprised. “I’m feeling tired!”
Clint’s eyebrows came together and he instantly stood. “What’s wrong?” he said in an undertone.
Sean noticed that Maurice wasn’t even pretending to give them privacy, watching them avidly. He really hated that guy.
“I’m just tired. Practice was hard today.”
Clint searched his eyes. “Shall I come?” he asked softly.
Sean swallowed. That damn First Meeting Syndrome. He shook his head. “A man needs some alone time,” he grinned, winking lewdly at Maurice, who rolled his eyes.
Clint smiled at that. Gently he pressed his cheek against Sean, brushing his lips against Sean’s ear. “All right. Good night.”
Sean turned around abruptly, hoping the sudden bulge in his pants wasn't visible, and walked out of the room, leaving Maurice and Clint together, staring at his back.
It occurred to him only later when he’d already changed into shorts and removed his shirt-Clint liked the room so damn hot-that he should never have left a tipsy Maurice alone with an equally tipsy Clint.
Panicked, he sat bolt upright in bed and considered. Maurice had already been in a chatty mood. What if he decided that he needed to exercise his leadership here?
Cursing, he threw off the bedcovers. Going back now would just be odd. What would he say? That he wasn’t tired anymore? That he was suddenly rejuvenated from five minutes of sleep?
He covered his face with his hands and groaned out loud. Why on earth had he opened his big fat mouth?
He could never sleep now, never, never.
But it was his last conscious thought as the alcohol worked its magic-and in five minutes, Sean was on his back, splayed across the covers, snoring.
***
He woke up to Clint pulling the bedcovers around him.
It was so dark he couldn’t see anything, but he knew Clint’s smell. The guy had worn the same cologne and used the same soap since he was seventeen. Sean smiled sleepily.
He reached out blindly for Clint, who caught his hand and sat on the edge of the bed. “Hi, did I wake you?” Clint whispered and Sean could just picture his smile.
Sean didn’t answer, simply squeezed his hand and closed his eyes. Clint gently brushed his free hand over Sean’s hair and waited as Sean drifted off again, their hands warmly clasped.
And his last thought as he went to sleep was I love you.
CHAPTER TWO
Sean had always been an early riser. He liked mornings. There was something very calming about waking up earlier than everyone else-the feeling of having the whole place to himself even if he wasn’t alone.
But Clint liked his sleep, and so Sean got out of bed as quietly as he could, mouth dry and tasting awful. The alcohol had left him feeling fuzzy and nauseous. He looked over his shoulder at Clint-he was sleeping shirtless, the sheets pulled to just above his hips, facing the wall with his back to Sean.
For one long second, Sean stared at that pale expanse of skin right above the sheet and felt his morning erection get even harder. He imagined his mouth brushing against that little dip where Clint’s spine continued into his round bottom.
Clint was his best friend and didn’t deserve to be ogled in his sleep.
Sean grabbed a towel from the closet and entered the bathroom quickly, trying to wipe the memory from his mind. He went to the toilet and freed his cock from his boxers, wondering if he’d be able to pee with the erection. Unbidden, Clint’s shirtless back came to his mind.
He felt his cock grow harder. He looked down. It was leaking, the head turning red. Swearing, he gave in, his fist coming to gently grasp his cock. He glanced around the gleaming hotel bathroom and found the lotion. Squeezing a little onto his palm, he slicked his cock up, groaning slightly at the sensation.
His hand moved slowly at first and he watched it, imagining it was Clint’s, slowly dragging the velvety skin back and forth. He tightened his grip, maintaining the slow tempo and thought of Clint’s cock. He’d glimpsed it accidentally a few times-in the locker rooms, and it had been beautiful. Thick, pale, bigger than Sean’s- and he hadn’t even seen it hard!
Sean wasn’t ashamed of his own girth-he knew he wasn’t the biggest guy around, but it got the job done, and besides, he had other tricks up his sleeve and no girl had ever complained.
He thought of what it would be like to suck Clint’s cock, to lick that salty skin, to fit the bulbous head into his warm, wet mouth while Clint moaned. What it would be like to look up at Clint while he blew him, Clint’s hand slipping into Sean’s hair and holding his head as Sean bobbed up and down.
Sean’s hand was moving faster now, his breath coming in pants. He bit his lip, trying hard not to make a sound. He thought of Clint moaning his name, whispering Sean. The idea was so erotic that he let out an embarrassingly loud groan. His hand was whipping over his cock now.
He pictured Clint getting louder and louder as Sean sucked his cock, as he took it deeper down his convulsing throat, as he lashed his tongue against the underside of Clint’s beautiful cock. Clint with his eyes closed and saying Sean’s name over and over, gasping it as if it was a mantra, only Sean in his thoughts, until finally he came in Sean’s mouth.
That sent him over the edge and Sean gasped as his orgasm came, his cock throbbing and pulsing, the pleasure low in his belly and his balls, as jets of come fell into the toilet. He moved his hand slower now, gently milking his cock.
Spent, he sat on the edge of the bathtub and looked at his wet hand. This was pathetic.
Humiliated, he flushed the toilet and stepped into the showers, turning the water on scalding hot in a futile attempt to cleanse the memory of jacking off to his innocent best friend-who was sleeping just outside.
Sean let the water beat down on his head and soaped himself up. He had a naturally upbeat personality and could count only a handful of times where he’d truly wallowed. He just couldn’t stand being sad and didn’t see the point in it.
He’d only ever cried a few times about Clint-and that had usually been alcohol related or when they’d fought. Which, to be fair, wasn’t
often.
Grimly, he turned his face up to the stinging heat of the water and turned his mind forcibly to breakfast and training. Football always distracted him and he let it, filling his mind with dribbles, free kicks and penalty shots.
***
When he emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, hair wet, towel draped around his waist, feeling fresh, energized and happy, he stopped short and swallowed. Clint was awake, still shirtless, clad only in boxers-and lying down on Sean’s bed.
Sean briefly wondered if the universe was fucking with him. Surely he wasn’t such a bad fellow. Surely he didn’t deserve this level of confusion.
“Morning,” Clint said sleepily, smiling at Sean. “I had to charge my phone.” He waved it as he spoke, indicating the plug next to Sean’s bed.
Sean cursed his life. There had to be no plugs next to Clint’s bed, didn’t there? What a joke.
He turned away, determined not to see the way Clint’s naked torso was brushing against his sheets. He felt a stirring in his pants and was wildly tempted to give his crotch a stern talking-to.
Maybe later, though. Clint might not understand.
“What a beautiful day, huh?” Sean sang, throwing open the curtains. Rich sunlight flooded the room and he felt a warm happy feeling bloom in his chest at the thought of playing football in a couple of hours.
Clint rolled to his side and smiled, looking at Sean. “You look good. Have you upped your workouts?”
Sean felt a blush start somewhere around his chest and rush upwards.
“Yeah!” Humor had always been his way out and this was no different. He flexed his biceps, grinned and raised an eyebrow. “I’m out of your league now.”
Clint laughed. He lazily sat, leaning his elbows on his thighs and looking at Sean. With the sunlight on his face, his hair flopping messily around his head, he looked so damned delicious, Sean thought briefly about joining him, friendship or no friendship.
“I want to talk to you.”
Sean stiffened, his heart suddenly pounding. Clint looked serious and a little… angry? Oh, God. Had Maurice spilled it already?
