by Eden Finley
Talon’s lips purse. “Nah, we should go somewhere and do it. Like a training retreat. I’ll have to go home at some point and see the fam first, but then we can go to the middle of nowhere so there’s nothing to do but eat and train.”
“Wait, what?”
His blue eyes pierce mine through the screen. “After the season, I’m gonna ride your ass until you’re back in shape.”
Chapter Eleven
TALON
The words tumble out of me before I can stop them. Miller’s mouth drops open, and I wince and fuse my eyes closed, wishing I could put the words back in my mouth.
“Talon.” Miller’s voice is strained.
“I didn’t mean …” I refuse to open my eyes. “I mean I want to be there to help get you back in form so we can do what we’ve talked about since we were teenagers.”
“Talon,” Miller says again, firmer this time. More in control.
I don’t want to open my eyes because I’m scared it’s going to be written all over my face. What it is, I’m still not sure. It’s why I’ve withdrawn from … whatever game we were playing.
It’s not like me to back away from any challenge, but this one was messing with my head and my game.
The season’s been rocky, but we’re hanging in there. I’ve been trying to put Miller and whatever feelings I’ve been having for him as far away as possible. At least until the team finds their feet.
When I finally build up the nerve to open my eyes, Miller’s there, the solid presence I needed and that always grounded me during college. Yeah, we did a lot of shit, but I’d hate to see what I would’ve been like if I’d done it with anyone but Miller.
“You don’t need me to win the Super Bowl,” Miller says. “You guys can make it all the way. And I’ll still get a ring by default. The two games I played count.”
I don’t know how Miller always knows what I need. Like right now, I need to talk about football, because if we talk about the big gay elephant … bi elephant? Pan elephant? Who-the-fuck-knows elephant … I don’t want to screw things up between us.
Like they’re not fucked up already?
“Default wasn’t part of the plan,” I say, distracting myself with more football talk. “It was gonna be you and me. So back-to-back Super Bowl wins are the only way.”
Miller laughs, deep and warm. “Cocky son of a bitch.”
“Confident.”
“God, I wish I was there,” Miller says.
“Here?” I croak. “Why?”
Scenarios run through my head of what Miller could do if he were here right now, and not one of them is PG-rated.
“Why do you think? I’m going batshit and my leg is messed up. I wanna be back on the field.”
Ah, he’s still talking about football. Duh.
“I’ll get you there,” I promise.
“You’re really going to spend your off season training me? Shouldn’t you be taking a jersey chaser or two to a sex island?”
I perk up. “There are sex islands? Think we could recondition there?”
“On second thought, I don’t think you should be let loose on a sex island. You’d probably forget to do important things like eat and drink water, and then you’d die of dehydration.”
“Like those animals who literally fuck themselves to death?”
“What?” I ask.
“There are these rat-looking things from Australia. The males literally stop eating so they can have sex until they die. Something about their need to keep their gene pool going.”
“I shouldn’t be shocked about your weird knowledge of animal sex, but I am.”
“Just trying to find my spirit animal.” I sigh. “Although lately, I’m more like a panda. If I go much longer without sex, I’ll forget how to do it.”
Why my brain thinks that’s a good idea to tell Miller, I have no idea. Maybe I’m fishing for him to agree with me, or maybe I want him to know that I’m not fucking around with anyone else. Not that I’m fucking around with him either.
“Aww, how long has it been? A few days? A week?” He smiles, but there’s something in it that makes me think he’s gritting his teeth while he does.
“Try months. That night … with those two girls. That’s the last time I …” I wave my hand in a you know what I’m trying to say gesture.
“Holy shit, how are you surviving? And what about your pregame ritual?”
“The new calluses on my hands aren’t from throwing footballs.”
Miller cracks up laughing, and something inside me breaks. What it is, I don’t know, but it’s like charging the field at the beginning of a game. It’s a touchdown in the last minute. It’s putting that championship ring on for the first time. It’s … everything.
“Shane,” I say, my voice coarse.
His eyes flick to mine through the small screen, and his laughter dies.
My confession is a whisper. “I chickened out.”
Miller’s brow furrows. “Chickened out of what?”
“This. FaceTiming you.”
Miller looks like he’s trying to decide to mock me or let me off the hook. I beat him to talking so he can do neither.
“I’ve wanted to. You have no idea how much.”
His expression softens. “I think I have a fair idea. I wasn’t calling you on your bluff or taunting you.” He lowers his voice and whispers, “I wanted it. I want this.”
Miller’s gaze burns so hot I expect my phone to overheat. How I’ve never seen him this way before now is confusing, but not really when I dissect it.
I uprooted my whole life for him. Moved to Chicago to be near him. All because I missed what I had with him, which, up until recently, I thought was just a solid friendship.
Friends don’t give up what I did just so they can see their college buddy again. That’s illogical. That doesn’t stop me from trying to make sense of it. And to make sense of it, I need to do something I’ve been putting off.
For fear of rejection, fear of discovering some unknown truth that’s always been a part of me, I don’t know. But I do know Miller doesn’t scare me. Doing this with Miller doesn’t scare me.
“Take your shirt off,” I rasp.
“Talon—”
“Take. Your. Shirt. Off.”
Miller’s lips quirk, but he does as I say. His voice is muffled by his shirt going over his head as he says, “You know, using that voice for anything but football may backfire.”
“What voice?”
“Marcus Talon, the quarterback. Next season, when you call out plays, I’ll be blocking linebackers with a hard-on.”
The thought of Miller getting hard because of me makes my own dick perk up. Not that it wasn’t half there already.
“I’ve seen your dick. It’s impressive but not that impressive.” I have to joke because I need a dose of reality, and keeping things light between us is the basis of our friendship.
I’m sure if he tried, his dick could tackle someone. Everything about Miller is big, and one thing I have noticed all the times we’ve been naked together is that he’s definitely in proportion to the rest of his giant body.
I’ve always admired him and his physique on a professional level, but now I’m mesmerized by his body in a new way. Like how he moves his arm under his head, his biceps bunching. Miller’s dark hair, usually short during the season, has started growing out, and the slight curls fall over his forehead and almost into his dark eyes.
Why the fuck am I thinking about his eyes? And his muscles? And—
“What are you thinkin’ about?” Miller’s voice, deep and rumbly, pulls me out of my confusion. Because it’s Miller. Things have never been confusing with him before, but ever since moving to Chicago …
“How many times have we seen each other naked?” I ask.
“Countless,” Miller answers easily.
“Then why am I only noticing shit now?”
“Shit? Are you calling my abs shit? Because my abs could crush your abs in a fight.”
A l
augh escapes. “No. I mean why is this the first time I’ve taken notice of how sexy muscles can be?”
Miller’s eyes become hooded. “I’m trying to decide whether to mouth off and tell you you’re slow on the uptake or ask you what you want me to do with said muscles.”
I smirk. “I love how you found a way to say both of those things without actually saying either.”
“There was also a joke about some of the women we’ve been with being more muscular than me, but I held that one in.”
“Respect.”
“So … you were saying something about my muscles.”
A breath gets stuck in my throat. “Yeah. I was.” Because, apparently, we’re doing this, and, apparently, Miller’s completely okay with it.
I swallow hard and the question How are you so comfortable right now? can’t pass my lips no matter how much I want to ask it.
“If you don’t want to do this …” Miller starts.
“I do,” I blurt. “I just … I don’t know how … what … I—”
Miller leans back, his long arm holding his phone farther away. I can see all of his torso and an impressive bulge in his jeans. Those muscles I’ve been admiring are on full display, and I bite my lip to hold in any noise. I’m worried if I do it’ll all stop.
I can’t help wondering what his skin tastes like. Is it different to a woman’s? Manlier? Sweatier?
“Are you okay with watching me?” Miller asks. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
I nod, but it’s subtle. “Yes.”
I’m thankful he’s taking the lead here, because as bossy as I can be on the field and in other areas of my life, this is one thing I’m completely lost on.
Miller’s hand starts at his collarbone and slowly moves over his chest and down his pec. It hesitates for a second as his fingers trail over his nipple, as if he’s contemplating squeezing it, but he keeps moving on.
“Pinch your nipple,” I instruct. “I know you want it.”
“Yeah? How do you know?” he asks breathlessly.
“You forget I already know what you like. When someone’s sucking on your nipple, you get this feral look in your eye, and you sound tortured like it’s too hard to hold back.”
A flash of surprise crosses his face, and he’s probably as shocked as I am that I’d taken that much notice.
Instead of going for his nipple though, his hand moves to his cock and palms it over the denim. His hips roll and lift off the bed, and he grips his cock through the denim.
“What else do I like?” he asks.
My voice shakes as I say, “You like it when your hair is pulled while you’re going down on … someone.” I’m trying to avoid pronouns, because reminding him of women while doing this without one present diminishes what we’re doing. I want him to only be thinking of me, just like my focus is on him and everything I already know about getting him off. I want to be the one on his mind as he comes tonight.
Miller groans in appreciation, and his wrist flicks the button on his jeans.
“Take them off.” Didn’t take much for my bossy side to come out.
“Give me a sec.” He puts his phone down so I’m staring at his ceiling.
When he appears on my screen again, a shy smile ghosts his lips. “Is it weird that I’m nervous? I mean … considering the stuff we’ve done …”
“This is different,” I whisper. “This is us. Only us.”
Miller disappears again, and the view goes wonky. I see an arm and a flash of his tat on his pec, and then the picture steadies. Bare ass fills the screen, and I catch a quick peek of his surgical scar running down the back of his hamstring. I don’t have time to ask about it, because Miller climbs back onto his mattress, and I can’t help loving the image I’m seeing.
He’s placed his phone on his dresser, giving me a view of his entire room.
If asked my favorite body part on someone, a few months ago, my answer never would’ve been Miller’s thick and powerful thighs. But as he lies down and lifts the leg closest to the camera, hiding his monster cock, my mouth dries at the sight.
His eyes meet mine. “What do you want me to do?”
“Get yourself off” falls out of my mouth, and I hope he doesn’t call me on my obviousness. I’m not so lucky. Of course not. This is Miller. The only guy in the world to truly call me on my shit.
“Oh. I thought you, like, wanted me to knit you a sweater or something.”
I go to snipe back, but all playfulness leaves when he drops that powerful thigh and exposes the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. And I’ve lived in locker rooms. I’ve noticed way too many for a supposed straight guy. “I don’t think you’d be able to knit with that.”
Miller throws his head back and laughs, but then he stares down at his cock as he reaches for it.
His erection is long and thick and only appears bigger when his beefy hand wraps around the hard shaft. He strokes himself slowly, and I swallow hard.
“Are you hard?” he asks, his voice husky.
Am I hard? I don’t think I’ve been so fucking horny in my life.
I palm my cock through my boxers. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t turn to look at me. Instead, he closes his eyes, and his lips part.
Licking his hand, he uses his spit as lube and strokes himself faster. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Miller do this—one of our many favorite things we used to do was have him get himself off while he watched me with someone else—but it’s the first time I’ve actually paid real attention to his hand while he’s doing it.
Precum leaks in my boxers, and I pull the waistband down and tuck it under my balls so my cock springs free.
Miller doesn’t make a move to watch me. When he does open his eyes, his focus stays on his cock as the muscles in his arm flex.
Someone moans, and I think it’s me, but I honestly can’t be sure. My attention is only on Miller as he works his hand up and down, slowly increasing pace.
His hips buck off the bed as he fucks his own hand, and that’s the image that makes me give in to my own need.
The first touch has my whole body shuddering. I’m not going to last long. The last time jerking off felt this good was during training camp, right after I got Miller to his room. These past few weeks, when I’ve been exploring many, many clips of gay porn, none of those orgasms compare to the one building inside me.
No more words are spoken, and I don’t even know if Miller’s aware of what I’m doing. He closes his eyes, and his jaw hardens as if he’s gritting his teeth, but it’s when he makes the telltale grunt right before he comes that has me spilling into my own hand.
My muscles tense to the point of aching and drag out my orgasm until I’m completely spent.
Five seconds later, white ropes of cum cover Miller’s stomach, and he collapses back, sinking into his mattress.
The only sound between us is heavy breathing, and Miller still refuses to look at me, but I can’t stop staring at his long body.
Miller’s hand absentmindedly runs through the cum on his stomach, and the question in my head appears without much though.
I wonder what he tastes like.
“You okay?” Miller asks, pulling my gaze away.
He’s finally looking at me, and I wonder how long he’s had his eyes open and if he cares about me staring at him with that much intensity.
My lips quirk, and I pan my phone down to show the mess I’ve made of myself. “Never better. Shame you missed it.”
Miller’s still breathing heavy. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Guilt I can’t explain consumes me, and when I force myself to speak, I can’t get my words above a whisper. “I may not know what’s going on with me, but I can say with complete certainty that you could never make me uncomfortable.”
Miller’s eyes soften, and he looks relieved.
“And what about you?” I ask. “This seems to be a lot easier for you than your average straight guy.
”
He hesitates. “I told you I’d thought about you in that way.”
That doesn’t mean this wouldn’t or shouldn’t be as weird for him as it is for me.
“Have you thought about other guys that way?” I don’t know if I want to know the answer.
Miller breaks eye contact again. “I’ve been with guys before.”
Yup, I didn’t want to know that. My chest tightens, and while I can’t be sure because it’s never happened to me before, I think it’s jealousy. Which is ridiculous. I’ve been in the very same room while Miller’s been with women. Why does the gender of his hookups matter?
“When?” I ask.
Miller gets out of bed to take his phone from the dresser. He lies back down, and his face is back to being the only thing to fill my screen.
“Do you really want to know?”
No! “Yes.”
“There were a few guys senior year of college.”
Senior year. After I left. I must make a face or something, because he keeps talking.
“I needed to know if what I felt for you was for you or for guys in general.”
“And the answer?” I don’t think I truly want to know this either.
“Guys in general. I’m … uh … I’m bi.”
More inexplicable disappointment.
It’s stupid and selfish of me to think any of this could be about me. That what’s between us is a one-off somehow. If it was just us, it’d give me reassurance that what I want with Miller is bigger than either of us and something out of our control. The thought of going out there and being with other guys doesn’t appeal to me, but maybe if I pushed myself—
“You’re thinking pretty hard over there,” Miller says.
On the small square on the screen where I can see myself, I notice the large frown lines across my forehead.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” I admit. “But it makes sense after you told me you’d thought about it—us—before. Although I don’t know why you didn’t think to come to me about it.”
He huffs a humorless laugh. “How do you think twenty-two-year-old Talon would’ve reacted to that?”
“Whoa, why do you say that like you think I was some kind of close-minded asshole back then?”
