by Amy Lane
“Good to know,” Mason gasped. “Could you maybe send Terry here with a glass of milk and my pain meds?” It was obviously time for another dose.
Terry came in, milk in hand, and put a Vicodin in his palm. Mason had recovered himself by then and curled his fingers around Terry’s, then looked up into that wide-eyed harlequin face. He still had smudges on his cheeks from the game, although his hands were clean down to the fingernails.
“It’s called dating when you want to spend time with someone,” he said, holding fast when Terry tried to pull away.
“Oh God,” Terry mumbled. “I didn’t know you could—”
“I’m dating you because I want to spend time with you. Honestly, if we hadn’t had sex yet, I would have been finding ways to be near you. So, you know, maybe remember that if someone asks.” He let Terry pull away, popped the pill in his mouth, and washed it down with an angry swirl of milk.
“Never had anyone ask before,” Terry said, looking miserable. “Except girls who wanted to go out.”
“You ever…?” Not that he couldn’t be bi, but Mason was curious.
Terry shook his head. “Not once. I mean, I don’t get that much time to myself, you know? Had to be something I absolutely wanted.”
Oh. Yeah, that was nice to hear. “Well, you absolutely want me. And backatcha.”
He nodded, some strands from the knot of hair at his crown falling forward. Then he bent down and kissed Mason’s cheek. “Your brother’s real nice,” he said softly. “But I think I’m getting in his way.”
“You need to help him anyway,” Mason told him soberly. “Helping the family in the kitchen is sort of a test.”
Terry looked surprised. “Of what?”
“Whether you’re willing to be part of the family,” Mason told him reasonably. Ira had tried to help Janette in the kitchen all the time. She’d repeatedly turned him down because he got bossy and elitist about the food, but at least he had tried.
But the look on Terry’s face was skeptical. “And that gets me…?”
“Free lasagna and cookies?”
Ah—there was the look of something clicking. “Okay, I get it now. I’ll go finish up and bring you a plate.”
He left and Mason went back to pretending to watch the rerun. But all Dane and Terry’s conversation was based on getting dinner set up and plates full, so Mason didn’t learn anything else interesting by eavesdropping, and he really was starving by the time food was served.
He managed to clean his plate before he fell asleep, and both Dane and Terry helped him up the stairs.
“You both may want to shower,” Dane told him as they set him on the bed. “I’ll go get Terry some sweats since he’s more my size.”
He left, and Terry darted an apologetic glance at Mason. “I sleep naked,” he whispered.
“You may want underwear so your balls don’t get twisted,” Mason replied back, because that was why he always slept in boxers. Terry nodded like this was new and important information, and maybe it was the pain meds, but Mason finally realized that he’d met someone who saw life in the same terms Mason always had: how best to care for and feed that strange animal that had been born between his legs.
“You’re so clever,” Terry said in admiration.
Dane showed up right then with clothes, which Terry said thank you for before disappearing into the bathroom.
“You going to be able to bathe yourself?” Dane asked, concerned.
“I’ll get his help if I need it,” Mason replied mildly.
Dane sucked air through his teeth and pulled thoughtfully at the scruff on his chin. “Uh, Mace, he means well and he’s better than pretty much any of the losers you’ve dated, but… uh, helping not his strong suit.”
Mason grimaced. The lettuce had been torn up into really big chunks. His jersey still smelled like ranch dressing because it hadn’t been easy to eat.
“We’ll work on it together,” he said with dignity.
“Well, here’s a plastic bag. Let me rubber band it to your ankle so you can work on it together and not have the damned bandage get wet.”
“D’oh!” Yeah, Mason should have thought of that.
“You’re really stoned, Mace. Just don’t sign anything permanent tonight, right?”
“Deed to the house is secure,” Mason said soberly, and Dane rolled his eyes and patted his head.
“No more soccer for you!”
“Not true,” Mason said. “We have to go. We have to cheer on the team!”
“Oh God.”
“But you like Carpenter!” Mason was stoned, but he was also confused.
“I do. But he gets beat the hell up at those games and it’s hard to watch.”
Mason frowned. “Yeah, but if you give a shit, you deal with that. Why else would Terry drive me to the doctor’s office and stay for lasagna?”
Dane cocked his head and wrinkled his nose. “You know it sucks how often you’re right. I’m going to bed now—don’t pass out before Terry gets here to help you shower. You smell like ass.”
That thought alone kept him awake.
Terry came in a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist. “I was going to get dressed, but then I remembered you’d need help, so guess what? We’re showering naked.”
Mason thought hard at his penis, but it mostly yawned and rolled over sleepily. “Goddammit,” he muttered.
“Doesn’t do what you wanted it to?” Terry asked sympathetically, putting his shoulder under Mason’s arm. “Yeah—mine was getting all frisky when I got naked in your bathroom, and then I reminded it that you were hurt and, you know, nothing. I’m stunned. First time that thing’s been quiet since I was eleven years old.”
“What happened when you were eleven?” Mason asked, hopping carefully into the bathroom.
“Mikey Ingalls showed me what happened after he made his hard. It was very interesting, believe you me.”
Mason chuckled, and he would have launched into the story of the puberty video and his social justice outrage at nine, but he needed to concentrate to undress and get under the spray.
Terry helped, undressing him in that impersonal way that people have when they’re focused on something. It wasn’t until Mason got under the spray that Terry’s hand slid across his stomach, and then the rest of Terry climbed into the shower and plastered himself along Mason’s back.
And Mason relaxed like he’d forgotten how to breathe for a week and only just now remembered.
“This is good,” he said, the comfort making his chest ache. “Thank you.”
“I needed it too,” Terry mumbled. “You’re not supposed to get hurt, Mason. Not with me.”
“Anything can hurt you,” Mason said, wondering if they were talking the ankle or his heart. “All you can do is take worthwhile risks.” Ah, there was his business school coming out. It was nice to know it was good for something.
“My stupid soccer team isn’t worth—”
“Friends,” Mason said shortly, thinking about how everybody had gathered around him. Skipper, Carpenter, Richie, the other guys—they’d all been concerned. It was dumb animal camaraderie, and he couldn’t remember ever having the rest of his herd giving that much of a shit. “You. Worth it.”
“Well, if you’re not healed by the end of this season, there’s always another one,” Terry said practically. He straightened then and grabbed the washcloth, soaping Mason’s back and then his chest with brief, practical motions while Mason used both his hands to keep himself balanced in the tub.
“You ticklish?” Terry asked at one point.
“Only a little—”
“I’ll go fast.”
It was his only warning that the cloth was going to get personal, violate his underarms, his ribs, and then, oh God—“Eek!”
“I’ve got to wash your balls, Mason. They’re sweaty.”
“Yeah, but—oh my God!”
“Heh heh heh.”
“That wasn’t my balls—eeee!”
“Yo
u’re cracking me up. Now let the water hit you and I’ll get your legs. You really are still wearing a mud puddle.”
“The water isn’t going to hit any of those places you just washed,” Mason said with dignity. His cock, balls, and asshole were sparkly clean, thank you very much.
“Yeah, but I might want to rinse them off with my tongue, so maybe try to make sure I’m not gagging on soap, okay?”
And just like that, Mason’s penis was back online.
EVENTUALLY TERRY rinsed him off, helped him out of the tub, dried him off, and got him into boxers and a T-shirt. Terry put on a clean pair of Dane’s boxers and left the T-shirt on the dresser with the sweats, and then gave Mason a hand into bed.
He set Mason up on his side, his ankle propped up with a pillow, and told him to just stay there and turn off the light. Mason was in the process of reaching above him when Terry disappeared under the covers, pulling Mason’s boxers down just far enough, and his mouth…. Mm. His mouth was doing one of Mason’s favorite mouth things down there with Mason’s cock.
Mason couldn’t move or he’d risk jostling his ankle, and he was too tired and too stoned to do more than lie there and let Terry minister to him while he moaned quietly, tugging gently on the clean strands of Terry’s hair under the covers. It didn’t take him long to issue a sleepy climax down Terry’s throat.
Terry popped up out of the blankets then and kissed him softly, and Mason closed his eyes, falling into the kiss, and the one after that, and the one after that. When Terry pulled away, Mason was barely awake enough to grumble.
“I didn’t get to do anything for—”
“I ain’t never slept next to anyone all night,” Terry whispered. “This is as good as sex!”
Mason groaned and pulled him tight, settling his head on Mason’s shoulder. “Better,” he whispered, falling asleep. “It’s even better.”
Balls Off the Table
TERRY GOT up once in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and then came back and settled in Mason’s arms. Mason woke up in the morning with a vicious need to pee, and Terry woke up and helped him groggily. By the time they both got back to bed, they were awake enough to talk.
“God,” Terry mumbled. “I want to just stay here next to you all day.”
Mason wouldn’t have minded that. Terry was powerfully built but not thick—sort of like a snake or a jackrabbit, where every ounce of weight was put into muscle. And he fit against Mason’s chest, and his ribs, like a puzzle piece cut just for him.
“I wish you could,” Mason said back. “Can you?”
“Well, what did you have planned?” Terry regarded him with sleepy eyes.
“Dane and I were going to try to repaint the guest bedroom. It’s heinously ugly because we fucked up green last week, and we want another try.”
Terry grunted. “I got no idea how you could fuck up green. That’s probably a rich people’s thing.”
“No, I think it’s a that-color’s-uglier-than-dog-puke thing. What was your day going to be?”
“Nungh.” Terry burrowed closer into his chest.
“That’s not a good answer.”
“It’s stupid. I just… I mean, you and Dane were painting last week, and you showed me pictures, and I realized that you could change your house, and I got this stupid wild hair—”
Mason was waking up a little now and suddenly terribly interested in what he’d had planned. “What sort of wild hair?”
“God, Mason, it’s so embarrassing. My mom got her house from her parents and hasn’t done squat with it. The place has this, like, shitty yard out back, and it’s all overgrown weeds and shit, and junk and snakes probably and mosquito puddles and…. God, it’s a fucking jungle.”
“You were going to clean it out?” Mason asked, intrigued. He’d never cleared out a jungle before. “I can help.”
“You can not, moron—you sprained your ankle. You could watch me, and that’s embarrassing.”
“I could direct,” Mason said grandly, suddenly liking this idea very much. “And I’m not your only option for help, you know. Maybe call Skipper and Richie, offer them some beer, call the other guys on the team.”
“Today?”
Oh yeah—a bit much to do at the last minute.
“Next week,” Mason yawned. “Today, let’s go back to sleep for an hour. When we wake up, maybe we can get Dane to go out for doughnuts.”
“I’ll glaze your doughnut,” Terry chuckled wickedly.
And then he fell asleep.
DANE WOKE them up an hour later with doughnuts and a big glass of milk to share. Mason struggled to sit, and Terry sacrificed all his pillows to prop Mason up.
“So,” Dane said when they were all settled, “what are we doing today?”
“I gotta go home soon,” Terry said apologetically before biting into a chocolate glazed. He chewed and swallowed blissfully. “Well, maybe in an hour.”
“While you’re here, we should plan cleaning out your mom’s backyard,” Mason said, suddenly excited about having another home improvement project.
“Is this before or after we fix the guest room?” Dane asked skeptically, and Mason shrugged.
“It’s only green?”
“No, it’s not only green. It’s the green that makes ogre barf look beautiful and pure, you asshole. Are you telling me we have to live with that for another two weeks?”
Mason tried to do that begging-with-his-eyes thing that Terry was so adept at, but Dane was the baby brother and as such was apparently immune.
Terry finished off his doughnut and looked up to see the eyeball standoff still underway. “Uh, so, how long will it take to repaint this disaster?” he asked cautiously.
Dane smiled at him with pointy teeth. “Well, if you set up while I’m at Lowe’s getting a better color, probably two hours.”
“That is way underestimating,” Mason warned. “It took us all last Sunday.”
“Yeah, but the tarps are still down because we saw it dry and tried not to hurl,” Dane retorted. “I swear, if Terry can fix the tape up while I go get any other fucking color but that one, it won’t take that long at all.”
“Fine,” Mason said, in prime negotiations mode. “You do that—but you have to plan the work party for Terry’s yard next week. We need six people besides me—”
“You’re sitting on a folding chair and supervising!” Terry protested.
Mason grunted. “Well, okay. So you two—”
“Carpenter,” Dane supplied.
“Carpenter,” Mason conceded. “And Skip and Richie and—”
“Anyone else I can get Carpenter to ask,” Dane finished. “Deal. What will we need?”
Both of them turned toward Terry, who was in the middle of his second doughnut.
“Are you naked?” Dane asked into the sudden silence.
Terry looked down at his bare torso, and Mason watched as a flush traveled up his stomach, outward from his pectorals, and liberally splashed his neck and ears. “I’ve got boxers on,” he mumbled, taking another bite of doughnut. In the pause afterward, his nipples pebbled, and Mason choked back a smirk—and on the temptation to scope out his crotch to see if anything else perked up.
“Work party,” Mason rasped. God, they’d slept together all night, and he’d been so stoned he hadn’t been able to fuck. The unfairness of that seemed overwhelming right now. “We need to plan the work party.”
“Yeah,” Dane said, looking pointedly at the desk in Mason’s room—so, pointedly away from Mason’s sort-of boyfriend. “What will we need?”
“Uh, work gloves?” Terry forgot his sudden embarrassment. “Work gloves, jeans, boots—God knows what’s back there. We need something to cut back the weeds and shit—”
“Pruning shears and a Weedwacker,” Mason supplied.
“Yeah—we don’t got none of that. And I don’t know where we’re going to put all the shit—”
“Rent a dumpster,” Dane said, ticking it off on his fingers.
“Sustenance,” Mason said seriously. “Dane and I can bring a big thermos of coffee and doughnuts—”
“And pizza and beer for later,” Dane agreed.
“Wait!” Terry burst out, suddenly panicky. “Guys, we can’t all go tramping into my mom’s house. She’ll shit her pants!”
Mason shrugged. “We’ll set up outside—”
“But it’s cold!”
“That’s what the coffee is for.” Mason didn’t see the problem. “And if it gets too cold, we’ll let people go out on errands in the heated cars. Honestly, Terry, as long as guys can get into the bathroom to take a leak, I think it’ll be okay.”
Terry frowned at him, eyebrows working like a small dog’s. “You know, if everyone shows up to do something nice for us, fuck her if she can’t deal, right?”
Well, that was a little harsh, but if that’s what it took to launch Terry into home and possibly life improvement? “Sure.” Mason nodded. “And you know, if you want to maybe try to get her to go to a friend’s house or something, we could be done before she even knew we were there.”
Terry’s eyes widened until they were practically an animated forest creature’s eyes. “That would be the best thing ever,” he breathed. “Let’s do that.”
Mason and Dane nodded enthusiastically. “Deal!” Dane said. “So, we all have jobs to do there, and you and me have jobs to do today. Mason, I’m going to put the doughnuts downstairs while you dress, and then you’re going to go lay on the guest room bed and I’m going to get out the tape and the brushes for Terry. Are we all planned out?”
Terry grabbed his third doughnut. “Five more minutes,” he said before washing his bite down with milk. “Ab banks bor be bobuth.”
Dane looked into the woefully depleted box, which he’d probably hoped would last him at least until the next day, when he had to leave at six in the morning so he could get to Davis and park by eight. “Anytime,” he said philosophically. He stood up, grabbed the box and their milk glass, and left to go get the folding chair and tape, leaving Terry to get Mason dressed and ready.
MASON WAS in the middle of explaining to Terry how to tape the border between paint colors—and how to anchor the tarps to make sure the carpet and the bed didn’t get spattered—when Terry’s phone rang in his pocket.
