“Ollie.” There was so much in that one softly spoken word - command, question, request. Ollie stilled and met Dagen’s eyes, waiting. “I meant what I said last night.”
Ollie licked his lips. “So did I.”
Dagen let out a breath and his eyes dropped back down to Ollie’s naked torso and hardened when they landed on the last of the bruises still lingering on his skin. Almost instinctively, Ollie brought his hand up to try to cover the weak spot, but Dagen’s touch landed there first, just the barest trace of fingers against his still healing skin.
Ollie shuddered. Their eyes met and held. Ollie swayed forward without meaning too, leaning into the simple touch of Dagen’s hand against him. The moment stretched between them, taunt like string and he had no doubt Dagen was feeling the same heat he was. The coffee pot let out a gurgle behind him and they both jumped.
Dagen pulled his hand back and grasped his towel like he thought it might abandon him and turned towards his room. “Clothes.”
“Yep.” Ollie said, adjusting himself quickly before heading to his own room, slamming his door a second after Dagen’s slammed down the hall.
“Ack.” Rory’s voice rang out from the bathroom. “You’re both hopeless.”
It was nearly dark by the time Dagen made it outside to work on his kettlebell throw. The evening air around him was cool and he was thankful the humidity of summer was still a couple weeks away. He much preferred spring and fall. Cool, crisp mornings and damp days that didn’t make you feel like you were melting.
He pulled all the equipment he’d need from the shed they stored all his strong man training gear in and began to set up the toss. Two twenty foot steel poles would stand vertical holding up a five foot horizontal pole stretched between them at the very top. The point was to toss the kettlebell so that it sailed over the horizontal pole suspended twenty feet in the air. The kettlebell weighing fifty pounds.
As he worked to put the frame together, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying to Ollie and the conversation they’d had that morning. He’d done his best to put Ollie in the back of his mind all day as they worked to get the gym back in order after having to re-arrange for the competition. Vidar had only mentioned the deadlift once, but Dagen knew that his brother was concerned he wouldn’t be able to make the cut for Nationals this year. A local lift and a state lift were in totally different leagues and Nationals was in another galaxy altogether. Maybe he was rushing himself, but he felt like he’d already wasted so much time being injured that he just wanted to get back in the game. Winning yesterday had felt good. Having Ollie in the crowd cheering for him? Even better.
He gave the frame he’d just assembled a shake to make sure it would hold then grabbed the kettlebell up off the ground. This was a nice easy workout to stretch his already sore muscles without taxing them, and honestly, he just really liked it. There was still the slightest pull in the back of his leg from the injury as he settled himself into position - feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, and kettlebell held with both hands in front of him with his back to the frame he’d just erected - and began swinging the bell, up over his head and then down between his legs, gaining momentum. Once he felt he had it, on the up swing he released the bell and stepped forward, turning to see it sail over the horizontal bar and land with a thunk, creating a divot in the grass beyond the lot. He set up the frame right on the edge of the asphalt just for that reason.
“Wow. How much does that thing weigh?” Ollie’s voice called from closer to the building near where the back stairway led up to their door. He was partially obscured in shadows as the sun continued its descent, but Dagen could still see the dark spots under his eyes. The pale pallor of his skin. It looked like the hangover hadn’t been so easy for Ollie to shake and reminded Dagen of the way he’d looked that second night, standing in the kitchen, hurting and unable to sleep.
“It’s fifty pounds.”
Ollie let a low whistle from between his teeth. “Jesus, and you just chuck it around like that?”
Dagen felt his chest swell at the praise, but tried to keep the silly grin he could feel pulling up the corners of his mouth off his face. “It’s, uh, it’s one of my best events.”
Ollie walked closer and inspected the kettlebell where it lay among the old divots from Dagen’s many training sessions. “Maybe not as impressive as you pulling that truck across the parking lot yesterday with nothing but some rope, but it’s pretty cool.”
Dagen noticed Ollie hadn’t really looked him in the eye and stepped closer. His skin was even paler from less than a foot away, pulled tight around chapped lips, and his normally smooth forehead was creased with tension. “Ollie.”
“You keep doing that,” Ollie said with a little shake of his head.
“What?”
“Saying my name...like it’s something else. Something...I don’t know, like it means more than it does.”
Dagen opened his mouth to tell him it did. That to Dagen it was coming to mean everything, but something held his tongue. Before he could think of something less revealing to say Ollie was waving him off.
“Don’t mind me man, I’m out of my head. This hangover has kicked my ass today. I was gonna go get some food, but I think I might just go back to bed.”
He turned sideways like he might head back to the stairs, but didn’t take a step in their direction. He looked smaller than Dagen had ever seen him. This was more than hangover tired. It was like more of the tired that Ollie had shown up with, clinging to him like smoke from a campfire. Once it’s on you, in your clothes, in your hair, only a good scrubbing will wash it away. Dagen wondered what Ollie needed to scrub him clean, to help him shed this layer of exhaustion and doubt that had its teeth sunk into him.
Dagen didn’t know, but he did know of one thing he could offer and something told him Ollie would even accept it. Darkness was folding around them, the cool breeze turning colder and Ollie shivered. Dagen stepped forward, right up into Ollie’s space and opened his arms. Ollie stepped into them with no hesitation and tucked his head right under Dagen’s chin like he’d been there all along.
Dagen wrapped his arms around Ollie, pulled him close, held him tight, and Ollie in turn wrapped his long arms around Dagen’s waist, his hands fisting in the material in the back of Dagen’s shirt.
They stood there for several minutes and Dagen drank in the feel of Ollie pressed against him. Reveling in how right he felt there tucked under Dagen’s chin.
It had gone full dark when Dagen dropped his cheek to rest against the side of Ollie’s head and moved his lips so close they brushed his ear as he spoke. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll fix you dinner. We can watch a movie. What do you say?”
Ollie shuddered against him before squeezing his middle one more time, taking a step back, and nodding his head.
Chapter Nine
“Why the hell haven’t I been letting you cook for me for the last two weeks, again?” Ollie asked, looking more delicious with his flushed cheeks and comfortable slouch than any dish Dagen could throw together.
“Just stubborn, I guess.” Dagen teased before pausing and holding Ollie’s gaze. “Ready for dessert?”
Ollie groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding. There’s no way I have room for anything else…what is it?”
Chuckling Dagen rose from his chair and cleared their plates. After setting them on the counter, he looked back to his companion before he went to get the small bakery box he’d stashed in the pantry after his mid-afternoon coffee run. He didn’t know what prompted him to do it, other than a hope that he would have something sweet to offer Ollie should they have occasion for dessert and the cupcakes had looked particularly appealing that afternoon. Walking back to the table he held Ollie’s eyes and felt the same heat that had been licking at his insides that morning turn a notch higher.
Something had shifted between them that morning, and then shifted again when Ollie had let Dagen hug him downstairs.
“Isn’t cake on the tha
t shall not be named food list?” Ollie asked as he craned his neck to get a look inside the clear window on top of the bakery box when Dagen placed it in the middle of the table.
“Shhhhh, quiet you.” Dagen said with a grin as he opened the box and reached inside to hand Ollie a cupcake. “You can’t tell Harbor about this. He’ll kill me. Maybe literally.”
“Nah. He likes you too much.”
“He likes cake more.” Dagen had barely retaken his seat when Ollie leaned across the corner of the table and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you.” He said quietly and started to pull back. Dagen’s heart was thundering as he brought his hand up to Ollie’s cheek and brought their mouths together. The kiss was hesitant at first, testing, until Dagen sighed when Ollie fingers trailed along his beard and Ollie slipped his tongue inside and at the first brush of them together the heat between them exploded. Ollie came out of his chair and stepped between Dagen and the table, inserting himself between Dagen’s spread legs, and leaning down to claim his mouth. Dagen’s hands were everywhere. Anywhere he could reach. Palming Ollie’s ass and sliding down the backs of his legs then back up again.
Ollie tore his mouth away and rested his forehead against Dagen’s. “There’s something I want to try. I’ve been thinking about it since the other night-”
“Yes.” Dagen said, guessing what Ollie was talking about, but not really caring if he was wrong. He couldn’t imagine Ollie wanting something that he didn’t even as he hoped like hell that the possessive glint in Ollie’s eye meant what he thought it did.
Ollie took a deep breath and tried to gather himself. Dagen had done exactly what Ollie asked him to do, and now Ollie stood, trembling with need as he took in the spread of Dagen’s legs where he stood with his back to Ollie and his hands braced against the kitchen island. Just as he’d been when I wrapped his leg to outline his tattoo. He was wearing the same slick, dark basketball shorts he favored when at home. The material molded like a second skin over the sculpted globes of his ass, and Ollie's eyes traveled from the taut perfection up to the broad expanse of Dagen's back. Even completely relaxed, Ollie could see the outline of muscles moving with the rhythm of his breathing.
Dagen's sides expanded in what looked like a deep breath before his voice snapped Ollie out of the lustful trance he'd fallen into.
"Ollie? We don't have to do this now if you don't wan—"
"No, I- I want to." Stepping closer, Ollie knelt down behind Dagen. The first brush of fingers against the back of Dagen's thigh told Ollie that he wasn't the only one affected.
Dagen stilled, then stood up straight before looking down at Ollie, dark heat swirling in his gaze. Ollie's skin prickled as awareness stretched between them. Dagen's hand went to the waistband of his shorts, and he lowered them down his trim hips and over the swell of his muscular thighs until gravity took hold and carried them down to pool on the floor around his bare feet. Lifting one foot out of the shorts, Dagen kicked them away with the other, and with one last glance at Ollie, placed his hands back against the island. Ollie reached forward, fingers landing among the soft, dark hair scattered over the back of Dagen's thigh. Dagen shuddered and pressed back into Ollie's touch.
Coming up on his knees, Ollie traced with his fingertips this time where the tattoo would lay over the injury that had brought Dagen so much pain. He stopped when he reached the material of his briefs, electric blue with hot pink edging, and grinned as he ran his index finger just below the edge of Dagen's ass. “These are sexy,” Ollie said, and Dagen drew in a shaky breath. Ollie licked the salty sheen from his upper lip. The current running between them was overwhelming reason and sense. Ollie felt possessed as he moved the pad of a single finger up to rest on the edge of those colorful briefs. Nothing in his life had ever felt like this, and he wanted, needed, to know if Dagen was feeling the same.
“Ollie.” It was a plea and the weight of it would have dropped Ollie to his knees if he wasn’t already there. He’d only ever topped once before. Before Justin and his life falling apart. It blew him away that this was something Dagen would want from him. With Justin it had seemed like all he’d wanted was to control Ollie. To bend Ollie to his will. It’s how he knew how different whatever was happening between him and Dagen was. Dagen may want Ollie to take him, and while just the thought was sending a powerful wave of emotion through him. It wasn’t about control. It wasn’t about dominance. It was about pleasuring each other and trusting each other. Ollie was humbled by it.
“I need to hear you say it, Dagen,” he managed to gasp out, already letting his fingers creep higher.
“Touch me. Please.”
Without hesitation, Ollie’s hand gripped one firm globe of Dagen’s ass. He groaned at the feel of it and leaned forward, pressing his panting mouth against the meat of the other cheek and biting down. Dagen’s whole body shuddered, something like a sob falling from his lips. It was all Ollie needed.
Manic energy exploded in his chest and Ollie stood. Dagen made a confused sound and started to straighten when Ollie stepped forward and pressed his chest to Dagen's back, urging him to put his hands back on the island. Ollie laid himself over Dagen until they were perfectly aligned with Ollie's groin settled fully against his backside.
"Do you want this?" Ollie asked, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. Ollie's hands gripped his hips, and he rocked forward, his erection sliding along the crevice of Dagen's perfect ass.
"God, yes. Ollie, fuck."
He reached out and gripped Dagen's forearms. They were too large for his fingers to fully close around, so he dug his digits lightly into the straining muscle there and stood back up as he slid his hands up sculpted arms and shoulders. Dagen's head dropped forward with a groan as Ollie continued to drive his hips forward and back while his hands traveled down and beneath his shirt until they met hot skin. "Tell me you have condoms and lube?"
Dagen nodded quickly, head still bowed and said, "In my nightstand."
Pushing the shirt up, Ollie leaned down and licked a wet stripe up his spine before resting his forehead between Dagen's shoulder blades. "Don't move." He was proud of how strong his voice came out, and with a press of lips, he forced himself away to run down the hall to Dagen's room. It only took seconds to find what he needed, what he suspected they both needed, before he was turning back toward the kitchen, only for the visual as he turned the corner to stop him in his tracks. Dagen’s shirt was piled on the floor beside his discarded shorts and he had the fingers of one big hand resting just under the waistband at the back of his briefs, waiting to push them down.
Dagen's heart was pounding. Ollie stood like a statue at the mouth of the hallway, lips parted and eyes glued to where his fingers disappeared beneath the waistband of his favorite Garcon briefs. He inched the waistband down, but before he got even halfway down his cheek, Ollie was on him. Sliding his hand in over Dagen's, he pushed the soft material all the way down, then gripped the meat of Dagen's cheek in a firm grasp. Dagen craned his neck to see Ollie's face just as he leaned forward and playfully bit along the back of Dagen's shoulder.
"I thought I told you not to move?"
Between Ollie's breath hot against his skin and the hand, now massaging his ass, Dagen thought he might explode. He couldn't believe this was happening, but he was praying it didn't stop. He was too tall to be able to kiss Ollie from this angle and was just about to turn around so he could get another taste of those lips when the hand palming his ass slid around and gripped his cock. There was no stopping the moan that spilled out of him or the way his body pressed forward to get more friction from the tight circle now holding him. Ollie stroked him slowly from root to tip, gathering the precum there and spreading it down the length of him. To the sadness of more than one hook-up, he didn't have a monster cock. He was a solid six inches and girthy which he thought was perfectly sufficient even after being met with enough disappointed stares that he'd become a bit gun shy about it. Ollie didn't seem to have any such complaints as h
is grip tightened, bringing him out of his head and back to the pleasure of Ollie's hands on him.
"Where did you go?" Ollie whispered against his shoulder.
Shaking his head, Dagen shifted back, sliding his ass back and forth over the erection he could feel pressing against him through the pants Ollie was still wearing. "Take your clothes off, Ollie. I want to feel your skin."
The hand around him disappeared a moment before the weight against his back followed suit. Ollie set the bottle of lube and strip of condoms down on the counter a moment before Ollie’s clothes went flying in same the direction as Dagen's discarded clothes. When Ollie pressed back against him, there was nothing separating them, and they both gasped at the delicious slide of skin on skin.
"Oh my god, you feel so good," Ollie said, hands sliding over everything he could reach and sending Dagen's already pounding arousal into a nearly unbearable state.
"Ollie, please. I promise you can touch all you want, but after…"
Ollie chuckled and punctuated his words with a thrust of his hips. "After what?"
"Fuck me, dammit," Dagen growled, arching his back to get Ollie's dick closer to where he wanted it.
"Fuck, you're beautiful." Ollie's voice was low, awe-filled, and Dagen flushed. No one had ever unraveled him like this before. Ollie had barely touched him and he was ready to blow all over the side of their kitchen island.
Ollie could feel the strain in Dagen's body as he pushed back against him, and the tenuous hold he had on his control snapped. He pressed forward, dick leaking all over the skin of Dagen's ass, and grabbed a condom and the lube he'd deposited on the island. Tearing the foil packet with his teeth, he grabbed the latex inside and rolled it down his length.
Open Wounds: The Boxed Set Page 7
