by Emrys Apollo
“Do you usually call for help when you have one?”
Jarrod shakes his head no. “I just needed to this time. I couldn’t breathe. I needed to hear your voice. Needed to hear you telling me it would be okay.”
Clive’s heart swells, and suddenly he regrets not calling Jarrod back either of the two times he’d called. He pulls away from him, and looks into his eyes, wide and wet and blue, and leans down to kiss him.
Jarrod kisses him back, soft and chaste, with their mouths closed. But even that is enough. It’s more than enough. It’s not Clive trying to get off, or Jarrod feeling sorry for him. It’s both of them, finding comfort in each other. Clive wishes Jarrod didn’t feel so awful, but he doesn’t quite mind the end result, the two of them cuddled up together like old times.
“Thank you for coming,” Jarrod whispers, “I know we didn’t end things on a good note, and I know you’re heartbroken. But thank you for coming when I needed you. It means a lot.”
Clive smiles at him and pulls him in close again. “We could not talk for five years, and if you called me then, I would come,” he says, and it might not be true exactly, but he believes it as he says it, and that’ll have to be enough.
Jarrod’s still asleep in his arms when Clive wakes in the morning. He looks younger in his sleep, hair mussed and body warm and relaxed. Clive leans down and kisses his hair, almost without thinking.
Jarrod hums and lets out a soft breath, the air warm against Clive’s neck.
Clive smiles and tries to extricate himself from Jarrod’s hold.
Unsuccessfully.
Jarrod wakes instead, and looks up at him, bleary-eyed and letting out a yawn. “Morning, love,” he says with a sleepy smile, and Clive’s heart melts in his chest.
“Morning, Jarr. I’m not trying to leave, I just need a piss.”
Jarrod makes a face, but lets him go eventually, shifting into the warmth he leaves behind and letting his eyes close again.
Clive climbs back in and settles in Jarrod’s old spot, not quite touching him because his hands are cold from washing in frigid water.
Jarrod turns and looks at him. “Stay,” he whispers, “stay today. Don’t have to go in - attending gave me the day off after she saw what a wreck I was. And I can’t work yet. I’m not ready.”
Clive had no plans to leave even before that, but after, wild horses couldn’t drag him away.
“I’m staying, baby, I promise. And if I’m staying, I’m looking after you, Jarr. You need a few decent meals. I’m taking you out to lunch. Maybe dinner, too. And ice cream. You look thinner than before, love, you need to eat up.”
“You’re one to talk,” Jarrod says, caressing Clive’s cheek, “if your cheeks were any more hollow, I’d be able to see your teeth. And it’s the offseason, so eating healthy can’t be your excuse anymore. I want you to look like you did the first time I saw you, beautiful and healthy again. And the muscles are hot, but we don’t have space in my tiny bed for extra-sexy Clive!”
Clive laughs at that, though his heart warms at the implication that Clive’s going to be in Jarrod’s bed again sometime.
“What about your boyfriend?” he asks softly.
Jarrod shrugs. “I’m thinking about calling it off. We don’t have time for each other. And I can’t talk to him about work, it upset him too much.”
“You’re still with him?” Clive asks, remembering how he’d kissed Jarrod the night before.
“If I said yes, would you get out of my bed?” Jarrod asks, a strange look in his eyes.
“I might do,” Clive admits.
“Then no. I’m not still with him.”
Clive leans in and kisses him. “I wouldn’t care if you were,” he whispers, remembering how Robin had been Kendra’s the whole time, and he hadn’t cared. Then he thinks about how that had ended, how broken he’d been when it was over, and he thinks maybe that’s not true. Maybe he would care, if he wasn’t desperate and lonely with a warm man in his arms who cared about him, even if he didn’t quite love him.
He wonders, though. The Jarrod he’d met that first day would not have cheated on his boyfriend. He’d been pure, virtuous even despite the shit he’d had to deal with. Clive wonders if it’s his fault. If he’s the one who ruined Jarrod’s snow-white soul with his inky fingerprints as he pressed bruises into his hipbones on a moonlit night.
It makes him feel almost sick, thinking that he might have been responsible for Jarrod being a worse person.
It makes him even sicker that he doesn’t regret it.
Between the choice of never meeting Jarrod and ruining him, he’d ruin him every single time.
CHAPTER 8
They go out and about in Birmingham, Clive wearing sunglasses even on the cloudy day in a misguided attempt to go under the radar. If anything, it makes him more conspicuous, and people often give him second glances, as if wondering if he’s blind or just very odd.
He takes Jarrod to lunch and pays, and it feels nice, like a date. They don’t hold hands and sit across from each other at the table, the perfect picture of platonic respectability, but under the table, Clive’s foot finds a way to nudge against Jarrod’s, and Jarrod doesn’t pull away.
“You should stay for awhile,” Jarrod says quietly, after he lets them back into his flat, “could you? Just for a few days? I’m not asking for forever, I know that’s stupid and unrealistic, but - “
Clive pulls him in for a kiss, all tenderness. “I’ll stay for as long as I can,” he promises, “we’ve got to be back for preseason, but I’ll stay until then, okay? We can go back to mine and pick some things up, my toothbrush, a few clothes, things like that. I can’t just wear your clothes for weeks on end, you know.”
Jarrod’s eyes widen at the word weeks, and Clive doesn’t know if it’s regret for having offered or excitement at getting more than he asked for. He doesn’t mention it. “But my clothes suit you,” he says petulantly, “and I feel less bad when it’s my clothes I’m taking off you and throwing onto the floor and not your expensive silk shirts.”
“Silk shirts? Jarr, I don’t own a single silk shirt, and honestly, I’m a little disappointed that you don’t think better of me,” Clive teases back.
This thing between them has been broken and it still feels fragile, but maybe time will paper over the cracks. Clive’s willing to try, anyway.
It’s so easy to fall back into old habits, and Jarrod laughs and pulls Clive in close, and they fall into bed, that one broken spring poking relentlessly into Clive’s back as Jarrod fucks him. He couldn’t care less, though, and it doesn’t just feel like sex anymore, like it had the first time. They know each other well enough now, care about each other enough that it’s more than that.
Clive thinks of another two words to describe what they’re doing, but even now, even when Jarrod’s thrusting into him and he’s begging for more, even now he knows that this can’t end well. The very best case scenario is Jarrod moving to Manchester for his job once he’s done and him and Clive forever in a covert relationship, maybe falling in love but unable to express it, stifling the rumors now and again by going out with a model or sleeping with a prostitute.
Once they finish, Clive gets to lay in bed, still blissed out while Jarrod comes to clean them both up, smiling when Clive just reaches for him and pulls him in close. “You’re the best I’ve ever had,” he murmurs before he drifts off, “’n I’m not just saying that, Jarr.”
Jarrod bites back the response that instinctively comes to his tongue. Best of the rest, maybe.
Still, if best of the rest gets him an impromptu visit just because he’s having a panic attack, he’ll take it.
Clive falls asleep first, for once, with the sweet peace of a man who doesn’t expect to wake until he’s good and ready.
“You’re a good man, Clive Reynold,” Jarrod thinks to himself. The words linger, and he turns them over in his mind, suddenly struck by the desire to taste them, to hear whether his voice is strong or still shake
n and weak.
He whispers them out loud, pressing a kiss to Clive’s hair that’s too tender for his own good.
When he wakes, Clive’s whistling and making eggs. “Coffee’s going to have to be black today, babe, the last of the milk went into the eggs.”
“I can ask Jess next door, she’ll lend me some, if her boyfriend isn’t too busy trying to fuck her brains out.”
It’s quiet and domestic, and they drink black coffee sweetened with honey (Jess doesn’t answer the door) and taste it on each other’s mouths when they kiss.
***
Clive decides to stay with Jarrod for awhile. They drive back up to Manchester, and Jarrod gawks at Clive’s house as Clive throws his clothes into a bag.
“You live here?”
“Yeah, I didn’t take you to a random house, Jarr.”
“By yourself?”
“Unless you want to move in with me,” Clive says with a smile, watching Jarrod flush.
“If that didn’t mean a six hour commute on the train every day, I might’ve taken you up on that. Unless you tell me you’ve got a private jet stashed away somewhere and a pilot just waiting for the word to take you anywhere you want to go?”
Clive bursts out laughing. “I’m a hockey player, I’m not Bill Gates!”
Jarrod looks a little perplexed. “That’s probably a good thing, I think I might’ve fainted if you were richer than this. My working class brain can’t comprehend all this.”
When they get into his house, Jarrod kisses him, still looking a little dazed, and looks around. “Okay, now I feel even worse about you spending the night in my tiny bed,” he mutters, “why don’t you just find someone here to fu - spend the night with?”
“That didn’t really work out all that well for me,” Clive mutters, remembering the last fight he and Robin had had in this house, before he’d stormed upstairs and Robin had followed him. He wonders what would have happened if Robin hadn’t followed him, if he’d kept talking to Jarrod, told him everything.
Jarrod’s expression softens. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. Give me a tour of your home?”
“More a house than a home,” Clive says, half surprised at himself for the admission. Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised. Jarrod always brings these things out of him, somehow.
He reaches out and takes Jarrod’s hand, warm and callused in his own fingers. “So this is the living room, we can watch a film tonight, if you want, I have a VHS player, so we can go rent a movie or something. Then here’s the kitchen - it’s pretty empty, we can go out and get some groceries, but I think all I’ve got now is bread, eggs, and milk? I usually just grab food and bring it home. Freeze it once at the beginning of the week, and then just thaw it out and eat it as I go. I know that’s kind of sad, but - “
“Smart,” Jarrod corrects him quietly, “that’s smart, not sad. You can’t do everything yourself, you’re probably dead on your feet after training. So when you have another option, you take it, that’s smart.”
Clive’s insides swell with emotion, thinking about how lucky he is to have someone so generous in his life, guilt rising when he thinks about Jarrod working an overnight shift, coming home bone-weary and still cooking for himself.
He tugs Jarrod close, hugging him in his kitchen. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”
Jarrod laughs, a little strained as he wraps his arms around him. “That’s only because you deserve better, Clive.”
Clive can’t say anything in response, just shakes his head, trying to make sure Jarrod knows. He clears his throat after a moment. “Let’s go upstairs. We can stay the night here tonight, head back to yours tomorrow, is that okay?”
“I haven’t brought any spare clothes,” Jarrod says sheepishly, as if he hadn’t lent his out to Clive half a dozen times before, “or a toothbrush.”
“I’ll give you some clothes, and I’ve got some spare toothbrushes lying around here somewhere - the dentist loves giving me a new one every six months, I think he might be trying to give me a hint or something - “
Jarrod laughs and pulls him in for a kiss. “I don’t know what he’s talking about, you taste great, you’ve still got all your teeth, you can’t be doing that badly.”
“Of course your benchmark for dental hygiene is still having all your teeth, Scouser,” Clive teases lightly.
“Careful, Clive, or you might not get this Scouser into bed tonight. Seeing as how you’ve probably got, what, a dozen spare rooms?”
“Two, and it really would be a shame to get you all the way to Manchester just so you can sleep alone.”
Jarrod laughs. “Not much chance of that,” he admits, looking at Clive with soft, soft eyes, and Clive can’t help but pull him in for a kiss.
“You are ridiculous, and I’m in real danger of falling in love with you,” Clive says quietly as they walk up the stairs to his room.
“If you’re in danger, you can still save yourself,” Jarrod offers, “break it off before you fall.”
Clive shakes his head slightly. “I’d rather take the risk.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Jarrod whispers, arms wrapped around Clive as they stand in his bedroom, holding him close. Clive thinks back to the last time he had someone in his bedroom, when his best friend was sleeping next to him to keep him together, and before that, when the man he loved was letting him fuck his mouth before leaving his heart in pieces between the sheets.
He thinks about now, Jarrod holding him. I just don’t want you to get hurt, he’d said.
The words mean so much to Clive. More than I love you, more than I need you, more than anything. Nobody’s said these words to him before. His heart swells up in his chest in a fit of emotion that makes him catch his breath.
Clive shrugs. “It’ll be worth it, if I do.”
“Not to me, Clive.”
“Then you can walk away.”
Jarrod shakes his head. “I don’t think I can, anymore,” he confesses, holding Clive as if he’s the most precious thing in the world, tight as if he’s afraid he’ll lose him, gentle as if he’s afraid he’ll break him.
“Then don’t.” Clive’s voice is a whisper.
Jarrod looks at him, eyes too full of emotion, and it’s overwhelming, but Clive can’t look away.
Can’t or won’t?
He knows it’s the latter, and when Jarrod places his hand carefully on Clive’s jaw and pulls him in, Clive meets him in a slow, searing kiss as they move back towards the bed.
“Clive,” Jarrod whispers, voice thick with emotion that he can’t quite put into any other word. “Clive, sweetheart, if we’re going to make love - “
Clive cuts him off with a kiss, can’t help himself. “In the drawer. Baby?”
“Hm?” Jarrod’s reaching over for the nightstand with one hand, but his eyes are on Clive.
“I don’t want the condom,” Clive whispers, “I don’t want it, Jarr. Not tonight.”
Jarrod shakes his head. “Sweetheart, we need to be careful. I’ll go out and get tested when I get back to work, and you can get tested too, if you can manage it. Once we get the results back, we can skip the condom, okay? But not until then.”
Clive nods. “I can’t wait until then,” he confesses, “I want to feel you. Please, Jarr, please - “
“Soon,” Jarrod promises, “now, sweetheart, come here, tell me what you want.”
“Want you to call me that,” Clive says softly, “I like it when you call me sweetheart and baby.”
“Oh, love, of course I’ll call you that.” Jarrod’s voice is so tender it almost makes Clive want to cry. “Come here, sweetheart, tell me what you’d like. Do you want me to go down on you tonight?”
Clive shakes his head, feeling somehow like he might cry. It aches, to be so vulnerable, but it’s so good when Jarrod treats him kindly, with gentle hands and soft lips and affectionate words. “Want you to make love to me, please.”
“You know, you might be the
first lad I’ve ever known to turn down a blowjob,” Jarrod teases, pressing his smiling lips against Clive’s neck. Clive smiles a little, the tidal wave of emotion subsiding for a moment.
“My gorgeous boy,” Jarrod croons, “my sweetheart, my baby.”
Clive clings to him. He feels like he’s being unraveled, almost, like he’s been shaken and his parts don’t fit together the same way they used to.
“Baby?” Jarrod asks him, “do you want me inside you or do you want to be inside me tonight? It’s up to you, sweetheart, whichever you want.”
“You,” Clive says breathlessly, “like this. On top of me, holding me. Please, Jarr, I need - “
Jarrod kisses him. “I know, sweetheart, I know what you need.” His voice is quiet and sure, his hands reassuring.
He lives up to those words, and Clive comes gasping his name, muscles shuddering and vision whiting out for a glorious, terrible minute.
Jarrod holds him through the aftershocks, and Clive can’t fight it anymore. He’s weak, after the orgasm, and he cries. Jarrod shushes him, holds him close and tight and hums something gentle and quiet until Clive calms down.
