by T A. McKay
I'm just about to turn and run back to my car when the door opens in front of me. Zeke stands there in shorts and a vest, his hair messed up like he’s been running his hands through it for hours and, against all self-preservation, I can’t help but look at him with lust flowing through me. My eyes make it to his legs before he speaks, quickly pulling my stare back to his face.
“Did you not get my text? I need a few days off.” He tries to close the door on me but I put my foot in between it and the doorframe, halting its movement.
“Yeah, I got your text. Did you not hear me calling?”
I get a grunt of response but that’s not going to work with me now. I need to get a few things off my chest and there’s no better time than right now.
“Was that an actual answer, because I'm pretty sure all I heard was a grunt?”
He doesn’t even respond as he turns and walks away, leaving the door open behind him. Apparently I'm meant to follow him, and if I wasn’t as determined to have this out with him, I would piss him off by leaving but I'm not sure that would piss him off today.
I walk into his house, following the noise he's making until I'm in the kitchen. I watch as he grabs a bottle of beer from the fridge and puts it on the table in front of the chair across from where he's sitting. He takes a swig from his own bottle and I really want to tell him he shouldn’t be drinking but I refrain. There are more important things to talk about at the moment. I sit across from him and take the bottle that’s obviously meant for me, deciding to have a drink to calm my racing nerves. It doesn’t bode well that he thinks we need alcohol to get through this conversation.
“So you want to tell me why you’re not at the gym? It doesn’t look like you’re missing a limb, and that’s pretty much the only excuse I’ll accept.”
His eyes meet with mine as he takes another drink, his look intense and filled with something I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Are you gay?” Okay, not where I thought this conversation was going, and really not an answer to what I was asking.
“I thought it was obvious but if you’re looking for confirmation then yes, Zeke, I'm gay.”
He nods, finishes his bottle of beer and grabs another one from the fridge. Sitting again, he starts ripping the label from the bottle. “I'm not gay.”
I want to tell him that he felt pretty gay last night and that most straight men don’t give other men hand jobs, but I don’t think this is the time for that. Instead I sit quietly and let him lead the conversation.
“I thought I was once, when I was a teenager. I told my dad but it’s okay, he showed me the error of my ways.” He laughs but I can’t hear an ounce of humor in it. He looks so sad sitting there and it’s taking everything in me not to wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything is going to be fine, but I just sit here. I don’t know what demons he's battling but I need him to let me in so I know what I'm fighting against. He obviously has a past, and one that isn’t happy. I sit patiently and let him work out what’s going on in his head.
“How did you come out? How did your parents react?”
My head is getting a bit confused with the sudden changes in subject, every time I think I know what the conversation is about he throws something else at me.
“Wow, well that was a few years ago now. It went well, I told them that I wasn’t attracted to women. They were very supportive, but maybe I was lucky because I have a big brother and sister who are both straight, so they know they’re gonna get grandkids from them.” I smile when I remember my mum crying, telling me that I was always special so she should have known I would be different. My dad was a bit shocked I think by the fact I was so into what he considered masculine pastimes. He had preconceived ideas about gay men, and my love of fighting and cars didn’t fit with what he thought he knew. He supported me the whole way though, he never thought any less of me or was embarrassed by my life.
“It must have been nice, having all that love and support around you.” He finishes another bottle of beer and stands. Walking to a cupboard, he pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels. He grabs two shot glasses before sitting down at the table again. I watch as he fills the glasses before pushing one in my direction. I don’t drink the one in front of me, I just watch him as he downs his.
He starts to speak as he refills his glass. “I was nearly fifteen when I told my dad that I had feelings for guys. That the girls I knew didn’t get me excited but seeing the guys in shower after gym made me hard. Fuck, you would have thought I told him I wanted to murder babies the way he exploded. He told me that no son of his was a faggot, that I just needed to be with a girl and get over my crazy thoughts.” He downs the drink and fills the glass again, I want to take it away from him but at least it’s getting him to talk. I can’t believe that his own dad treated him like that, especially when he had been brave enough to speak out.
“What happened after that?” I want him to get this out, maybe it will help him process what he's feeling.
“Life changed after that, like, seriously changed. I’d had a great life before that, but speaking those simple words made things quickly go to hell. That’s how I got into fighting. My dad thought it was important that I had ‘manly’ pursuits, that maybe if I acted more like a man I would become one. I had to learn fast how to protect myself because my dad soon started to organize fights for me, most of them against his friends. For the first few months I was in constant pain. I had broken ribs, bruises and my face was always a mass of cuts. I was a quick learner though, and it wasn’t long until I was kicking their asses and enjoying it.”
I stare at him in horror. He's talking as though all this is normal, that fighting against grown men is the usual way to start your fighting career. But that wasn’t even his dad’s plan, who was pretty much trying to beat the gay out of him.
“Oh, don’t look like that. He was making a man out of me, and look at me now. There isn’t a man out there that can beat me in the ring.” I see him clench his hand, before downing his drink. I can tell him being beat in the championship is still eating at him, still making him angrier than it should. “Dwayne never would have beat me if Ethan hadn’t fucked everything up. It was all his fault. He knew I needed the right equipment to win the fight. I could put that motherfucker in a grave.”
I make a mental note to work on the fact that he's blaming someone else for him losing the fight. He needs to be able to alter his technique when something goes wrong, to dig deep and use all his skill. To be the best and to win at all costs. This is where Ethan was actually at fault with his training. He spent too much time worrying about Zeke’s strength and brute force instead of his actual technique.
The silence is broken by Zeke, but when it is I wish he’d stayed quiet. His voice is lightly slurred now as the alcohol starts to have an affect on him. “I remember the day that my dad proved I wasn’t gay. That’s an experience I’ll never forget. He got one of his female friends to show me what it was like to be with a woman, and hey, I got hard so it must have proved I wasn’t gay. Fuck it was horrible. I just lay there while she used my body. And afterwards my dad patted me on the back and told me that he knew I liked women.” He doesn’t even fill his glass this time and drinks straight from the bottle. I listen in absolute horror as he speaks. I grab the shot glass and down the contents, needing something to ease the shock.
“She raped you.” The words come out on barely a whisper but I know he hears me when his head turns sharply towards me.
“She didn’t rape me. Didn’t you hear me? I got hard so I obviously wanted it.” The words he says are full of anger but I know this isn’t Zeke speaking, he's repeating the words that he's listened to all his life. I want to make him see sense but I know with the alcohol in his system this isn’t the time to make an issue of it. Hopefully we can return to this conversation in the future when he's sober, I need him to see that he wasn’t the one who was wrong. He was treated badly by the people who should have protected him, and I need him to see this,
I need his demons to stop having control over him.
“Then we need to disagree about that, Zeke. Because I think she took advantage of a very young and confused boy.”
He huffs before taking another drink. He puts the bottle down and I reach over the table, grab the bottle and hide it under my chair. He glares at me but he doesn’t say anything. I stare into his eyes, watching as the mask of anger slips, showing me the pain that he usually keeps hidden. He looks lost, like the teenage boy I imagine he was, just looking for someone to love him, someone to accept him for who he is. I can feel tears burn my eyes as I watch him, desperate to reach out and touch him but I don’t think he would want that. He would think I thought he was weak, when I think he might just be the strongest person I've ever met.
“Want to tell me why you weren’t in today?” I want to change the subject to something safer. I think he needs a break from his pain and I'm hoping this will help.
“I'm so fucking tired, Bryce. I'm sick of being confused about everything. Just when I think I know what I want, my mind screws me over again.”
I hate that I've come into his life and caused all this shit for him. I swear I'm thinking I should walk away and leave him in the capable hands of Eddie. “Would it be easier if I left? I'm sure Eddie can get you another coach, one that suits you better.”
He looks at me with panic in his eyes. “Please don’t go.” His voice is soft and full of emotion. I feel my throat thicken with my need to cry. I never imagined that under Zeke’s tough exterior there would be such a damaged man. It’s like he's never had anyone that accepted him for who he is.
I swallow, trying to clear my throat before I speak. “I don’t want to hurt you any more.”
He puts his hands on the flat surface of the table and slowly moves them towards my clenched ones. “It’s not you that’s hurting me. I just need some time to work out … shit, I don’t know, but please don’t go.” He looks pleadingly at me and I move my hands closer, being careful not to touch his. He needs to make the final move himself and close the distance between us if that’s what he wants.
“Are you sure? I’ve been in your life for less than a week and look at all the shit I'm causing.”
His hand touches mine and he entwines our fingers together. “I'm sure. It’s been a long time since I felt anything and, Bryce, you make me feel.”
I tighten my hold on his hand, not wanting to ever let him go.
I turn my head and look at Bryce who’s lying next to me on the sun loungers that we dragged into the back yard from the garage. The sun went down over an hour ago and we’ve just been lying here talking. I stopped drinking a while ago, after telling Bryce about my past I thought it was the safer option. I've never told anyone how I lost my virginity and I became so defensive about it because I know it was wrong. Even as it was happening I knew I shouldn’t have been there, so I’d closed my eyes and prayed for it to end. The amount I drank tonight made me talk about things I shouldn’t have, and it hurt more than I thought it would when I was telling him about it. The pain from my dad treating me like he did, the way he thought it was more acceptable for his friends to beat me than for me to have feelings for men, it tore my heart out. To see Bryce’s face when he listened, to know that he could see how wrong it was but my own dad didn’t, that made it feel worse. But I'm actually glad I told him, for some reason I feel a lighter now, like there is less pressure pushing down on my shoulders.
“So you’re telling me that you’ve never had biscuits and gravy?”
He laughs, probably finding my horror a bit dramatic. But shit, how the hell could he have lived in America for more than a week and not tasted the best thing in the world?
“I repeat, I have never had biscuits and gravy. I was in a café and saw them serving it up and I have to say it didn’t look appetizing. How the hell can you eat that crap?”
My mouth hangs open, shocked that he dares dis one of my favorite meals. “I swear, if I could be bothered to move, you would be in so much trouble.”
I hear an even bigger laugh and I can’t help but smile. The last few hours have been the most comfortable I’ve experienced in a long time. I don’t often just get to be myself around someone without anything being expected of me. When I go out with the guys it’s great, but I always feel as though I have to be Zeke ‘The Storm’ Raine instead of just Zeke. It’s completely different with Bryce, I can show him the side that I usually hide, and he hasn’t run away yet.
“I think we may need to start a diet sheet as well. I seriously thought you would know the basics but now I'm beginning to wonder.” He shakes his head at me, looking like the perfect disappointed coach, except any coach I've ever had hasn’t been as hot as him.
“Bryce?”
He raises his eyebrows and waits for me to continue.
“Fucking bite me.”
His eyes soften as he takes in my words, and when his expression changes and his eyes heat with passion, I realize what I've just said. The look Bryce gives me, the one that says he’s only too willing to have his mouth on me, makes my shorts suddenly feel too tight. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again. I'm not sure if he’s meant to look less turned on now, but it’s failing.
“I have so many answers to that, and none of them are suitable or remotely clean.” He shakes his head, making a show of sucking his lips into his mouth.
I sit up, placing my legs in the space between our loungers and lean forward with my elbows resting on my knees. “Are you cold?” I ask as Bryce follows me, mimicking my position and his leg brushes against mine.
“Are you kidding, it’s so fucking hot here I don’t think I’ll ever be cold again.”
I laugh at his answer and his body shifts slightly until we’re both leaning towards each other. “You get used to it. You won’t even notice it soon.” I have no idea why I'm talking about the weather but if it keeps us moving closer to each other then I’m willing to talk about the fucking precipitation levels in the air. I can feel his breath against my lips and I think I might pass out. I might be confused about what to do about Bryce, but when he's this close I know I'm not confused about my feelings. It’s like an attraction but on a deeper level, like it’s something written deep in our DNA. I would laugh at myself, about the fact that I’m talking like a chick, but when Bryce’s breath brushes over my lips I lose all ability to do anything but feel.
“Can I please kiss you, Zeke? But just so we’re clear, if you don’t want me to I need to leave right now.”
I don’t bother answering him as I lean forward until our lips meet. Immediately a sense of peace flows through my body and I finally feel like I'm home. I don’t know if I would class myself as gay, but I know I need to hand over my man card to Bryce since he has me thinking like a love sick girl.
Our lips tangle together gently, both of us happy to take our time. This is different than in the corridor at Joe’s. I'm pretty sure it’s because we both feel a little more certain about things, and Bryce must feel happier now I've had his dick in my hand. I know that first night he was worried he was pushing me into something I didn’t want, well now I've shown him that I'm exactly where I want to be. Bryce’s hand moves up and works its way into the back of my hair, pulling on it as he presses harder against my lips. I groan into his mouth as he pushes slowly back down on the lounger with his body before coming to lie on top of me. He presses into me and I notice that our bodies line up perfectly like we were made for each other. I've only ever known the softness of a woman’s body and even though this feels very different, I know it feels very right. His body matches mine: hard muscle and chiseled lines and it makes me achingly hard. I'm panting when he pulls back, his hand cupping my cheek as he looks deep into my eyes.
“I should have asked, is this okay for you? I just needed to feel you.”
I answer his question by lifting my hips and rubbing my cock along his, our matching hardness causing a delicious friction between us. His head drops to my
shoulder as his body shudders on top of mine. I’ve never dreamed that rubbing against another cock would give me so much pleasure, but I know that I don’t want it to stop. My entire focus is on our cocks, nothing else is important. That is until I feel his hand touching my stomach. His hands caress my abs and it’s my turn to shiver as I feel his fingers moving over my muscles, digging in slightly as he explores me.
I lift my torso off the lounger and pull my t-shirt over my head. He's seen me topless before, hell he's seen me naked, but knowing this time there’s more to it is exciting. His eyes roam over me and it feels like he's touching me.
“You are the most perfect thing I've ever seen.” A look of sadness crosses his face and he pulls his hand away.
I reach up to cup his jaw, running my thumb along his cheek. “Hey, where did you go?”
He blinks a few times before his eyes come back into focus. He smiles down at me, but it no longer reaches his eyes. “I'm here with you. I don’t want to be anywhere else.” I don’t know what he was just thinking about but I know the moment is gone. He looks so sad and I want to know why, I want to ask him what happened in his past but I respect his privacy. I understand the need to keep secrets and if he wants to share them he will when he’s ready.
He pushes himself off me and returns to his lounger again, rubbing his hands over his face as he does. “I'm sorry, I completely killed the moment. Maybe I should go?”
I sit up and grab his hands, pulling them into my lap. He looks at me and I feel a smile touch my lips.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” I don’t know what makes me ask, but all I can think about is how amazing it would be to wake up with him in my arms in the morning. I’ve never wanted to hold someone as much as I do him and I'm hoping he agrees. He raises his eyebrows at me and I look at him in confusion.
