Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

  David let his eyes close. “Oh, they’re helping, but when I get one this bad, they just cut the pain. They don’t kill it.”

  “Anything else help?” Trace asked, glancing at the floor as his sock-clad foot slipped on something. He pushed his glasses up absently, seeing the mess scattered around the nightstand. “I see you rifled the drawers looking for your pills,” he said, reaching down to pick up the magazine his foot had touched.

  “Would I ever hear the end of it if I asked you to rub my shoulders and maybe my scalp?”

  Looking back to David before he turned over the magazine to see the front cover, Trace frowned slightly. “You’re hurting, David. If I can help, it’s no problem.”

  David rolled over and pushed the pillow out of the way so he could lie flat on the bed. “Thanks, Trace. At this point I’d even take the razzing. I owe you one.”

  Trace dropped the American Journalism Review in the drawer and paused long enough to scoop up the rest of the mess as well, raising a brow a bit at some of the dumped contents: pens and notebooks, of course; condoms and lubricant—he wasn’t surprised at that; a half-empty bag of wintergreen candies; a lighter and a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Trace frowned. He thought David had quit. He dumped it all in the drawer before noticing something half under the bed, so he bent over a little more to reach for it.

  Trace’s fingers closed around something cool that felt like soft rubber, but it was cylindrical and…. He blinked when he pulled a dildo out from under the bed. His eyes flickered to David in surprise, but the other man was lying there with his eyes closed. Trace was tempted—really, really tempted—to start that expected razzing right now. He looked back down at it, heavy and thick and about eight inches long, and then he laid it in the drawer and pushed the drawer closed.

  Turning a little more to pull one knee up on the bed, Trace slid his fingers into David’s hair and started rubbing gently with one hand before adding the other for a soothing massage. Meanwhile, he thought about what he’d found. There were easy answers, sure. There were also more… interesting… answers, knowing what he did about David. So, no. Probably not something to tease about. At least not right now. Trace kept his out-of-place musings silently to himself and smiled, amused by the direction of his thoughts.

  David moaned, making a sound of sublime pleasure instead of pain for the first time since this headache had hit. “God, that’s good. Just a little harder.”

  Now that his mind was on things erotic, Trace couldn’t help but interpret the tone of David’s voice in that context. As he strengthened the rubbing, he stifled a chuckle. He figured David had a healthy sex life, but it was just one of those things they hadn’t happened to talk about over the years, especially since their tastes didn’t mesh. Trace’s social life was constantly the subject of gossip around town, so it was no surprise that David would be familiar with his friend’s bed-hopping. Trace supposed he’d assumed that David was just private about his affairs. Nothing wrong with that.

  The noises coming from the other man sounded pretty good to Trace—not that he’d ever heard another man during sex, with the exception of in a movie. He kept sliding his fingers over David’s skull with one hand shifting through the gold-shaded hair, sliding the other down to the base of David’s neck and lightly kneading with strong fingers.

  David’s shoulders rose into the touch, and he purred. Between the medicine and the light touch, he felt better than he had in hours. “You have fuckin’ brilliant hands.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Trace drawled, working more on David’s neck.

  David took a deep breath, relaxing into the physical attentions and the silence wrapped around him. As the massage relieved more and more of the pain, his body began reacting in a different way, his cock twitching where it lay trapped between his body and the mattress. David tensed, the pain returning slightly and dissuading his cock from its interest—which he knew was for the best. A good friend was a rare find, and Trace was the best. He and Trace had been friends for years without the slightest hint of sexual attraction. They were buddies, and David was absolutely certain Trace was totally straight. They talked politics and sports, not sex, and his friend had quite the social reputation that spoke for itself. Either way, David had no interest in losing his best friend over a quick roll in the proverbial hay. “I think maybe I’ll try to take a shower while I still feel halfway decent,” he mumbled into the sheet.

  Trace’s hands paused in their rubbing. “What do you mean, ‘still’?” he asked, brow furrowing. “Is the migraine going to get worse?” he asked in concern, restarting the massage gently. It bothered him to see his best friend hurting so much.

  “Yeah, if I can head them off in the first hour, sometimes one dose will make them go away, but when it gets a good foothold like it did today, it’s usually more like twenty-four hours. The problem is that I can only take a dose every six hours, and the pain relief lasts four at best.” David told himself he should move, but Trace’s fingers felt so good that he couldn’t bring himself to tell him to stop.

  “What kind of for-shit meds are those?” Trace asked, exasperated. “All right. Get a shower. Sure I can’t fix you something to eat?” He slowly eased his hands out of his friend’s hair, not wanting to pull it accidentally and cause David any more pain.

  “Yeah, I should try to eat. Check the pantry and see if I have any soup. Needs to be broth, not cream.” David grimaced as he moved off the bed. “I’m gonna leave the door open. Between the headache and the meds, I might be a little unstable.”

  “Just be careful, David. You don’t need a broken arm or something,” Trace said, standing up and watching David cautiously to make sure he at least made it to the next room.

  Once inside the soothing pale green and sandstone bathroom, David stripped out of his boxers and sat on the edge of the tub to keep from leaning over while he started the shower. He stood and stepped into the warm spray, braced his hands on the cool stone wall, and let the water sluice over his body. Between the medicine, Trace’s hands, and the shower, he was actually feeling almost normal.

  When he started to feel a little shaky, David finally shut off the water, got out of the tub, and reached for a towel to blot the skin of his upper body. Even the lightest pull on the curly blond hair blanketing his chest and belly hurt. It was amazing how sensitive a migraine made everything.

  Bending down to dry his legs, the room started to spin. “Fuck,” was all he got out as the world tilted and went black.

  Trace was in the kitchen stirring the soup when he heard a loud thump. His eyes widened, and he dropped the spoon and ran, yanking himself around the corner and barreling down the hall into the bedroom and to the bathroom door. “Shit!” he swore when he saw David awkwardly sprawled on the floor. He knelt down and pulled David into more of a sitting position, feeling around the back of his head, relieved to find no blood.

  Heart still pounding from the scare, Trace cursed under his breath and held David against his chest. “David. David?” He lightly patted the other man’s cheek, unsure what to do other than call 911.

  “Trace?” David mumbled.

  Pinpoints of light, like the sparklers kids use on the Fourth of July, played on the dark backdrop of David’s eyelids. His head was throbbing again and so was his shoulder. He could hear Trace’s voice, but it sounded far away. “Trace?”

  “David? Come on, open your eyes. Please? You’re scaring the hell outta me.”

  David spoke, and his voice was gravelly. “I’m okay. Head just hurts like hell. The last thing I remember was being in the shower.”

  “Yeah, well, now you’re on the floor. Did you hurt anything? Did you hit your head?” Trace looked over David’s face anxiously.

  “I don’t know.” David opened his eyes and winced, immediately closing them again. “My shoulder hurts too.”

  The quick flutter of David’s eyes wasn’t enough for Trace to judge his condition one way or another. “Which shoulder? The one you were lying on?�
�� Trace slid his arm up to David’s right shoulder, squeezing the joint gently.

  “Ow! Fuck, yeah, that’d be the one. Flip the lights off, will ya, so I can hobble my way back to bed.”

  “I’m helping you this time. Shit, David. You could have broken something, or worse.” Trace’s voice was ragged with concern as he half-lifted David from the floor and helped him stay on his feet. Being a couple inches taller than David’s six feet helped. It wasn’t until he slid his arm around David’s waist and his fingers settled on a bare hip that he realized David was still nude. Well, it won’t matter once he’s between the sheets.

  Grateful for the support, David leaned into Trace’s strength, the friction of his friend’s clothes highlighting his own lack of covering. “Fuck,” he muttered, whispering a silent prayer that their friendship would survive this day.

  “What?” Trace asked, voice sharp with worry as they limped their way across deep green carpeting to the bed. “You okay? Something else hurting?”

  “No, I just realized I was naked as a jaybird. You should be getting hazard pay for this visit.” Sitting on the side of the bed, David nodded gingerly toward the dresser. “You want to get me some boxers so I don’t offend your delicate sensibilities?”

  Trace snorted. “Now I know you’re drugged out of your skull. Me? Delicate sensibilities? I’ve got a set of the same gear myself. I think I’ll survive the embarrassment.” He reached up and pulled the sheets out of the way, waiting for David to shift and get under the covers. Then he grabbed three of the four pillows and propped David up on them.

  Mostly satisfied that David was safely settled, Trace said, “I’ll get the soup, if it’s not scorched by now. I sort of dropped the spoon and ran.”

  “Okay,” David said faintly as Trace left the bedroom.

  The soup was indeed ruined, so Trace dumped it into the sink and started a new pot. It only took about ten minutes, and he headed back to the bedroom with two mugs and a sleeve of crackers. “Here you go. First-class service,” he said drolly, setting the mug on the nightstand nearest David. Florence Nightingale was not a role he’d ever have cast himself in, but he figured he was doing an okay job. Besides the whole letting him splat onto the bathroom floor thing.

  He walked around the bed and sat on the other side, carefully opened the crackers, and set the sleeve on the sheets between them.

  “I can’t believe your lovers let you get away with eating crackers in bed,” David exclaimed, blowing the steam off the top of his soup.

  Trace shrugged, munching on a crisp, salty wafer. “It’s usually my bed, so I do what I want, right?” He sipped at the soup carefully before picking up a cracker and handing it to David. “Besides. You’re not my lover, so all bets are off. No point in trying to impress you with my manners if I’m not going to score.” He had a flash of sitting naked in bed with David for a reason other than illness, the easy camaraderie they shared spilling over into a more intimate relationship. Trace almost snorted his soup over the image and had to quietly laugh at himself.

  David felt a momentary pang but dismissed it as a side effect of the migraine. His initial flippant retort died on his tongue. “No…. No, I’m not your lover, and based on your usual type that’s not likely to change,” he answered, his voice a little breathy.

  Glancing sideways at David, Trace helped himself to another cracker. “So. Three hours until you can take another pill. You ought to try to sleep. I’ll wake you up when it’s time,” he suggested, thinking about the progress he could make on his performance arts center impact report in the meantime.

  Setting the still more-than-half-full mug aside, David slid down in the bed and pulled the cool sheets up. “Yeah. I think I’ll try to do that. Lover or not, don’t get crumbs in my bed, Jackson.”

  Trace watched David get comfortable and then went back to his soup without comment. It wasn’t long before David’s breaths evened out. Setting aside his empty mug a few minutes later, Trace watched David for a bit, still worried about him. Then he pulled his laptop within reach and got back to work.

  The next thing he knew, a soft beeping woke him up slowly. He frowned, trying to figure out what it was and why he was so uncomfortable. He loved his soft, cushy, Sleep Number bed. Trace pried open his eyes. His focus was off because his glasses were skewed half off his face. He straightened them and looked around.

  “Oh. Yeah,” he murmured. He was at David’s—in David’s bed, actually—slumped against the smooth, polished headboard fully dressed and now totally wrinkled. The lamp on the table next to him threw soft light over the room, and the beeping was coming from his laptop’s low battery alert. It was tilted onto its side, having slid off Trace’s legs. Settling it in a more stable position, he looked down at his patient.

  David lay curled up next to him, and his blond head was pillowed on Trace’s thigh. Trace’s arm was curled around him, his palm flat against David’s back, practically holding him in place.

  Trace was somewhat surprised by how David’s head in his lap made his body take interest, but he dismissed it. He’d always been a really tactile person, and he carried on an active sex life. It was a great outlet for stress, and he enjoyed it. He’d made peace with his touchy-feely tendencies a long time ago.

  Bemused, he drew a deep breath, trying to wake up, and yawned largely. A glance at the laptop’s clock showed it was early evening. He must have dropped off while working on the report. Slightly annoyed by the beeping, he saved the open document, shut the laptop down, and carefully lifted it to set it on the nightstand but couldn’t quite reach it without disturbing the bed. So he set it down next to him instead and turned his attention back to David.

  David looked more relaxed, and some of the usual warm color was back in his face. Most of the pained creases were relieved, leaving just the trace of lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth from all his smiling. David’s usually rugged features were softened in sleep, and without thinking about it, Trace rubbed David’s back gently. He yawned again and thought about going back to sleep; he decided there was no reason not to and let himself doze off again after scooting down a little, dimly thinking about how warm David was against him.

  Chapter 2

  DAVID WOKE into that warm, fuzzy, half-asleep place and contemplated letting the meds pull him back down. He remembered waking several hours earlier when the pain returned; Trace had brought him another pill and supported him while he drank enough water to get it down. Thankfully, the second dose had knocked him back out quickly. Taking a brief inventory of his body, he discovered that his shoulder hurt more than his head. He shifted into a comfortable position to get the pressure off it and—

  Suddenly alert, David rubbed his cheek against smooth fabric, over something firm that was not his pillow. He opened his eyes cautiously. Shit. Trace’s leg. He was trying to figure out how to gracefully extricate himself from his best friend’s lap when he saw Trace staring down at him.

  “Hey,” Trace greeted him softly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Ah, hey,” David answered, his voice dry and raspy, one of the side effects of the medicine. “Seems like on top of everything else I’ve used you as a pillow.” He pushed himself up slowly.

  Trace smiled. “It’s okay,” he said, not moving out of place. “You look like you feel better.”

  “I do. I think I might even be hungry,” David admitted with a smile. “I’m sure as hell sick of being in this bed. If I can make it to the kitchen table, think you could heat up some more soup?”

  “Sure, just no unsupervised bathroom trips,” Trace agreed good-naturedly. He needed to plug his laptop in anyway. He could duck out to the car and get the power cord. “Any other requests, your majesty?” he poked as he slid off the bed to stand, reaching above his head to stretch.

  David turned with a cocky retort that evaporated as he watched Trace. His friend’s lanky frame seemed to go on forever, extended like that, wide shoulders tapering down to narrow hips. His pale grey dress shirt had co
me untucked and the bottom two buttons pulled loose, revealing a triangle of tan skin bisected by a strip of dark hair. David swallowed. His mouth was dry now for a completely different reason.

  Trace yawned as he stretched and tilted his head side to side, groaning when his neck popped audibly. He dropped his arms and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Sleeping sitting up sucks,” he muttered before stepping on a sock’s toe with one foot to pull his foot free and then working off the other sock. He picked up his laptop and padded out of the bedroom barefoot.

  Mute, David watched him leave. He needed to get Trace out of here. He couldn’t imagine getting through the past eight hours without him, but the unusually close proximity for so long was obviously messing with his head. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed with a wince as he jarred his shoulder, he let the pain settle down to a dull ache before carefully donning a pair of boxers one leg at a time. His legs were still shaky as he followed after Trace.

  Trace washed out the pot first and set it back on the stove before stooping over and spinning the lazy Susan, looking for another can of soup or two. More chicken noodle. Tomato. Cheddar broccoli. Chunky vegetable beef. Yum. He pulled out the can and leaned over a little more to see the selection on the bottom shelf.

  David stepped into the kitchen, which was painted a deep wine red and trimmed with white crown molding, the work area surrounded by white cabinets that wrapped around three walls. He felt accomplished for making it that far. “Trace.” His words stuttered to a halt.

  Trace has an absolutely amazing ass. Bent over, one foot slightly raised for balance, his shirt was sliding up the broad, muscular back as he rummaged in the lazy Susan below the countertop. David would have to be a heterosexual saint to resist that image, and he was neither. His groin tightened, and he felt his cock go hard. Fuck.

  “Hmmm?” Trace answered before standing back up with another can of soup, reaching to tuck his hair behind one ear. “You want vegetable beef or golden mushroom?” he asked, spinning the lazy Susan closed.