by Sean Michael
“Coach. Coach. Coach.” The word came in time with his strokes.
“Okay, Justin. You can come now.”
Justin’s eyes went wide, and Chris could feel Justin’s body rippling around him.
“That’s it, Just. Give it to me.” He thrust in hard, prick rubbing Justin’s gland, the scent of come sudden and perfect.
Fuck, yes. He let his head hang down, hips slamming in. It was so fucking good. Justin was tight, his body rippling with his orgasm, and Chris was pretty sure he’d died and gone to heaven. If he hadn’t, he could easily stay right here.
Chris kept moving, tiny little motions that sent shivers down his spine. Justin moaned for him, the sound whisper soft.
“Shit, Just. I knew it would be good, but this…. Fuck.”
Justin nodded, exhaled softly.
Chris pressed soft kisses on Justin’s face. “Worth waiting for?” he asked.
Justin nodded once.
“I’m glad you waited too. I want to be the one to pop all your cherries.”
“I don’t think I have any left.” Sweet, innocent boy.
Chris just chuckled.
“I…. You hungry?”
“I could eat. You offering to make me breakfast?”
Justin snorted. “You’re funny. I make coffee and Eggo waffles. I was offering to buy you a bagel.”
“Damn, I was hoping you’d learned some culinary skills in the last few years.” Neither of them had ever been good in the kitchen. Not in all the years he’d coached Justin.
“Right. Eggos. Ham sandwiches. Ramen noodles. Frozen pizzas. We’re bachelors.”
“Not anymore. We’re a couple now. I’m thinking cooking lessons….”
It could be a part of Justin’s duties. Justin needed a schedule—he always had. Being in charge of meals would make a great anchor.
“I don’t cook.” Justin rubbed his forehead. “Man, I need an aspirin.”
“I’m not surprised. No more drinking.” He got up and padded to the bathroom, came back with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol.
“Not until after breakfast, for sure.”
“Not without permission, any time of the day.” They were going to have a long list of rules, Chris was sure.
“What? I’m legal.”
“That’s not the point, J. It’s going to be one of the rules. Besides, you won’t need to get drunk anymore.”
Justin took the pain pill, then picked up his shorts. “Bagels?”
“Sure. Sounds good. I mean it about cooking classes, though.” Chris dragged on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts before grabbing one of his shirts to give to Justin. “That should fit you.”
“Thanks. I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”
“You’ll be here, so there’s no ‘getting it back to me’ needed.”
“I have to go home. I have work.”
“I’ll come and help you pack up. We can share my office.” He knew damn well Justin could create web pages anywhere as long as he had his computer.
“I have to think about this. I have to give notice. I have to think.”
“You can work out your notice from here.” He went to Justin and wrapped his hands around Justin’s cheeks, tilted Justin’s face so they were looking into each other’s eyes. “Tell me you don’t want to be with me.”
“I-I have to go home, Coach. Think.”
“Thinking was never your strong point, Just.”
Justin’s eyes went wide, suddenly looking hurt. “No. No, it wasn’t. I really have to run, man. I’ll see you.” Then Justin left him standing there.
“Justin! Wait.” Chris sighed. He hadn’t meant to hurt Justin’s feelings.
He found his wallet, put it in his back pocket, and went after his boy. He had to remember that things were different now, that Justin wasn’t his swimmer. His boy, yes, but not his swimmer. Besides, Justin wasn’t quite with the program yet. But he wanted to be, would be.
Chris was betting his heart on it.
Chapter Four
JUSTIN WENT jogging on the beach, needing something physical to do. He only started to sweat about two miles into it, his bare feet hitting the sand. God. God, what was wrong with him?
A car horn honked nearby. He ignored it. He wasn’t on the road, wasn’t in anyone’s way. Another honk followed the first, then a third. He turned to look, jogging in place. Oh. Coach. Damn.
He waved, took the T-shirt out of his pocket, and headed over to the roadside. “Here’s your shirt. I didn’t sweat in it.”
“Justin. I don’t care if you sweat on my T-shirt.” Coach jerked his head toward the passenger side. “Get in.”
“I… I’m just heading home, you know? Working out.”
“Get in the car, Just. Please.”
“I’m not stupid.” It hadn’t been exactly what he’d meant to say, but it was what he’d been thinking the whole way. Nevertheless, he slid into the passenger’s seat.
“I know,” Coach said. “And I’m sorry I said what I did. I didn’t mean it the way you took it, but I shouldn’t have said it.”
“I mean, I’m really, really not.” Justin stared at his hands. “I know I’m not. I got my degree. I have a job, an apartment. I’m not dumb. I just miss being who I was.”
“I know, J. I didn’t mean I thought you were dumb. It was more… that you overthink things and work yourself into knots with it.”
“Yeah. I guess. Can you drop me off at home, please?”
“Can I come in and help you pack?”
Justin shook his head. “Coach, you don’t need me.” He knew this. He didn’t need himself.
“That’s not in the least bit true. I do need you.” Coach restarted the car.
“You have swimmers.”
“I don’t have the man I love.” Coach spoke softly but very clearly.
“You used to love.”
“That I love. I’ve been pining for you, Justin.”
“You made me call you.”
“Of course I made you call me. I ran your life. I didn’t think it would be right for me to turn around and tell you that you were staying with me as my lover now that the swimming was over.”
“And now you just want me? No. We have to date. We have to see if we are compatible and stuff.”
“See if we’re compatible? We were together for years—you know we’re compatible. But if you want to be wooed, I can woo you.”
They arrived at the front of his apartment building and sat there.
Coach finally broke the silence. “There’s no ‘just’ about any of this, you know. Besides you.”
“Can we go out tonight? Like normal people? My treat?”
“We are normal people, but yes, we can go out, your treat. Where are you taking me?”
“Vinny’s? You like their garlic bread a lot.” He remembered that.
“I do. Now I think you’re trying to fatten me up.” Coach winked at him.
“You look great, Coach. Honest.”
Coach chuckled. “I was only teasing, but that’s still good to hear.”
Justin’s stomach growled, loud enough to hear. He really needed that bagel.
Coach touched it briefly, making it flare with heat. “Let me take you to breakfast before I drop you off at home.”
“I’ll sweat on your shirt.”
Coach peered at him like he’d lost his mind. “Is it made of gold?”
“Your shirt? I don’t think so.” And he’d seen gold before.
“Then what’s the problem with you sweating on it?” Coach turned the car into a little strip mall near Justin’s place that had a deli in it.
“I was trying to be polite, man.”
“You don’t need to be polite with me, Justin. We know each other too well.”
“Still, that’s part of dating. Not sweating on a guy’s clothes.” He managed, barely, not to grin.
“Even if we get all hot and bothered? ’Cause it seems to me like sweating on a guy’s clothes could very
much be a part of dating.” Coach parked and slipped the keys out of the ignition, turning to him.
Justin couldn’t fight the smile this time, pulling the shirt on to hide his chuckles.
Coach came around and opened his door for him. “Just like a proper date, right?”
“Dork.” He was feeling a little more like he could breathe, though. “Cinnamon-sugar bagel or chocolate chip?”
“You know the answer to that, Just.” Coach had a sweet tooth he liked to deny, but anything with sugar was going to get devoured.
“I do.” They headed in, and he ordered four cinnamon-sugar and two raisin bagels, two coffees, and two huge orange juices.
“We’re definitely going to have to work out after a breakfast like this.” Coach seemed happy with his choices, though, as he handed money to the lady behind the counter.
“I’ve already worked out, Coach.” Justin picked up the tray, and they moved to one of the little tables for two.
“Right. Running away.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“You were.” Coach reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
“Just running. Not running away.”
One of Coach’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t say anything. And when he bit into his bagel, he closed his eyes. “Still warm.”
Justin took one half of the raisin, spread cream cheese on it, and devoured it.
“I forgot how much I love watching you eat.”
Justin felt his cheeks heat. “Thank you.” Okay, that made him a little goofy. It also made him self-conscious as he ate, noticing that Coach was watching him. He started fidgeting, unnerved.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re watching me.”
“Sorry.” Coach grinned and snagged another cinnamon-sugar bagel.
“Uh-huh.” Coach was lying. Justin couldn’t detect an ounce of sorry there.
Leaning in, Coach reached out and slid a finger across the corner of Justin’s lip. “Cream cheese.”
“Thank you.” Justin licked his lips.
Coach made a soft sound, eyes on Justin’s mouth, and Justin’s tongue flicked out again, the action instinctive. This time Coach made a louder sound, a sweet groan. Justin buried his face in his orange juice, heart racing.
“You know how much I wanted to express my feelings before?” Coach asked. “How hard it was watching you do things like that?”
“No.” No, Justin didn’t know, but he wanted to.
“It was fucking hard, Just. It’s amazing being able to watch, being able to let out how I’m feeling.”
The words felt so good, like a balm or something. So did Coach’s gaze. Warm as a touch.
“How’s your bagel?” Justin asked.
“Sweet.” Coach smiled at him.
“Just like you like them.”
“Yeah. We know each other pretty well.”
Justin nodded. They’d spent a lot of time together, in each other’s pockets.
Coach’s foot touched his under the table. Justin caught himself grinning like the world’s biggest idiot. Of course, Coach was grinning back at him every bit as widely.
“Drink your juice.” This was stupid. Fun. New. Exciting. But stupid.
“You drink your juice,” Coach countered.
“I’m drinking my coffee.”
“Brat.”
Justin grinned, then dutifully sipped his juice. Coach’s smile was cocky. His feet played with Justin’s under the table before he slid one up Justin’s calf.
“You can’t play footsie over bagels,” Justin objected. “It’s a law.”
“Then I’m breaking the law. In my defense, I’ve never heard of this law before.”
“It’s well-known,” Justin insisted.
“In what circles?” Coach was still rubbing Justin’s leg with a foot.
Justin’s cock was starting to fill, swell. Circles. Circles? What the hell was Coach talking about again?
“Well?” Coach asked softly, foot not letting up for an instant.
“Well what?” Justin’s eyes crossed.
Coach smiled at him, looking pleased with himself.
“What are you grinning about?” Justin had lost the thread somewhere, about the time that foot began playing with his.
“You’ve forgotten what we were talking about.”
“I just… was thinking about something else.”
“And what’s that?” Coach’s grin got bigger, if that was possible.
“Bagels,” he lied.
The snort he got told him exactly what Coach thought of that. Justin winked, feeling real for the first time in days. Months. Laughing, Coach slid his foot up between Justin’s legs. Maybe things were going to be okay, a little.
Coach’s gaze never left Justin’s face, a warmth in his eyes. Justin smiled, leaned back in his chair. Better. This was better. Coach’s foot slid between his upper thighs.
“Coach, be good.”
“Oh, I think I’m being very good.”
He shook his head. “You’re not.”
“You’re not enjoying this?” Coach’s toes nudged his package.
“I…. Hey!”
Coach gave him an innocent look.
“Stop it. You’re not innocent.”
Coach laughed again. That foot stayed where it was, though. Justin scooted back, moving himself out of range.
“Pshaw. You were enjoying that.” Coach was practically pouting at him.
“We’re in a bagel shop.”
“It’s not that busy,” countered Coach.
Justin snorted. “That’s not the point.”
“No? Then what is, Just?”
He rolled his eyes. “You can’t do that.”
“What? A little footsie under the table where no one can see it?”
“Yes!”
Dork.
Coach shook his head. “But I am doing it.”
“Nope. I moved.”
“All right, let me rephrase. I was doing it. I don’t remember you being so semantic.”
“I got smarter.” And more bored.
“And sexier.”
“I don’t know about that.” It sure felt good to hear it, though.
“Trust me. You are.” The heat in Coach’s eyes was almost as arousing as that foot on his package had been.
“Finish your bagel.”
“We bringing the extra ones home?” Coach took a bite.
“I thought…. Weren’t we going out tonight?”
“Sure. We can’t bring the bagels home if we’re having supper out?”
“I thought I was going to my home and you were going to yours.”
“You want to stick with that plan, do you?”
“No, I really want to go somewhere and watch a movie and just rest. I’m tired.” He blinked. “I mean….” Jesus, he had diarrhea of the fucking mouth.
“That can be arranged. You want to come back to my place or hit a theater?”
“I….” He hated theaters; Coach knew that.
“So you’ll come home, and we’ll eat popcorn and watch movies and snuggle under a blanket on my couch.”
“Okay. Okay, I’d like that.” It sounded like heaven, actually.
“Then let’s take these two bagels home. We can have them when we’re tired of popcorn.”
Justin found himself in the car tucked into Coach’s side again before he knew it. Much as he’d wanted to go home and think, he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.
THEY WATCHED all four Die Hard movies amid much popcorn and sweet leftover bagels, Justin dozing on and off in Chris’s arms. They’d sat and watched a lot of movies together over the years, but Chris had never been able to hold Justin like this, like Justin was his.
“Should I call for pizza before we start on something else?” he suggested when it started getting dark.
“You don’t mind staying in?”
Like he’d bitch about this. Ever. “Not for a second. Anchovies and olives and ext
ra cheese, right?” Justin was a freak when it came to pizza. Chris had learned to live with it.
“Uh-huh.” Justin grinned. “Sacky’s Pizza calls that the Justin Special. It’s on the menu.”
“Christ, I take it you order a lot more pizza now than you used to be allowed to eat when you were training.” Chris snagged the phone and looked up Sacky’s on his laptop.
“Uh-huh. Five, six times a week.”
He stared at Justin. “Seriously?” Oh, he was so getting cooking lessons for Justin and making that part of Justin’s duties.
“Uh-huh.” Justin shrugged. “My roomie pays for half.”
“What’s he going to do now that you’re moving in with me?” He wasn’t taking no for an answer on that point.
“I….” Justin shook his head. “You’re stubborn.”
“Yep. I am.” He found the phone number for the pizza place Justin liked and called them. “Large Justin Special, please.” He gave them his address and added a couple of slices of apple pie to the order.
When he was done, Justin spoke. “I don’t know if we’re going to talk about moving in together….”
“Why wouldn’t we talk about it?”
“Because I don’t know if I can. I have responsibilities.”
“Your job. I’ve already told you that you can share my office with me for work.” He would have an answer to every single one of Justin’s objections—he was serious about this.
“I work in the office, not at home. They don’t trust people.”
Chris frowned. “Then hand in your notice. You don’t want to work for someone who doesn’t trust you.”
“I can’t just quit my job!”
“Why not?” He had a job for Justin. A legitimate job that included things Justin loved.
“Because I’m a grown-up and the economy sucks and stuff?”
“But you have a job to move on to. That’s a very grown-up thing—moving from a job you hate to a job you love.”
Justin met his eyes, chewing on his bottom lip, worrying it. “I don’t know. I don’t want to see you fall in love with another swimmer.”
“Justin.” He moved to the couch and straddled his boy, cupped Justin’s face. “I’m in love with you. If we find another swimmer to take all the way, it’ll be something you and I share.”
