Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Dillon sat on the little bench in the locker room, staring at his legs.
They kinda looked like they’d been shot at and hit. Black and blue and purple all over. Hell, he hadn’t even been in the way. Really. He’d been back behind the cage, and the bull had come flying around the arena, completely in the wrong direction.
Adam Taggart, the safety man, had roped that stupid bull and Dillon had made for the cage then the catastrophe happened.
Rope, meet Dillon. Dillon, meet rope and cage.
Bam.
Some days, he was just forced to remember that his job was a teeny, tiny bit dangerous.
“Put ’em up.” Coke’s voice was husky, sympathetic.
“Huh? Gonna rob me?” See, he could still try for funny.
“Rub, not rob.” Coke straddled the bench and patted those muscled thighs, a tin in his hands. “Come on, son. This’ll help.”
Blinking, Dillon lifted his legs, resting his feet on Coke’s thighs. “Okay. Rub away.”
The stuff that came out of that tin was gray and slick and stinky, but Coke pulled out a huge finger full, rubbed it between those huge hands then started working his legs. Oh. Oh, sweet bleeding Christ. That was amazing.
He moaned, his head falling back as his toes curled. “Oh. Damn, Coke. Wow.”
“Yeah. It’s good stuff. I always keep it around.” Those thumbs dug into his calves, pushing hard, working the muscles.
“You’re the good stuff, Coke.” That was the God’s honest truth. Coke was a good man, and he had the best hands.
“Thank you. Poor legs. My damn heart stopped when that rope snapped.”
“Yeah. You should have seen Adam’s face.” It had been almost comical. Poor Adam had looked like something out of Ghost Ship or something.
“Yeah. He’s all worried about you. I bet Brian’s riding safety next week.”
“You think?” Frowning, Dillon made a mental note to call Adam. The man had been good to him when… Well, when David had done his “decide he wasn’t into dick because he wanted to have babies” thing. All the Taggart boys were decent men, even if no one could tell the triplets apart.
“Yeah. He’s okay. He just hated that he hurt you.” The massage moved to his feet.
“I might have to thank him.” That felt like heaven. Hell for him would be someplace really cold, with no Coke.
“Hmm?” Coke rolled one of his feet, then the other, working his ankles.
“Nothing. I’m kind of a puddle of goo.” Goo. Just… Woo.
“Goo is good. That means I’m doing my job.” Those hands moved up.
“You are. You so are.” It really wasn’t even sexual. It was just the care Coke took. No one in sports medicine would treat him so good.
He got a warm, weirdly gentle smile. “Have to make sure my people aren’t hurting, you know?”
Pushing up on one arm, Dillon stretched up and touched Coke’s wrist, smiling. “Am I one of your people?”
“Well, of course you are.”
“I like that idea.” He really, really liked that idea.
“Yeah?” The touch of those hands slowed, Coke’s massage turning into a gentle caress.
“I do. Been thinking about it a lot lately, in fact.” He must be really relaxed. Things were slipping out of his mouth.
“Yeah? About…”
“You. Me. Being people. To each other.” Oh. Oh, that touch, right on the arch of his foot.
“Oh. That’s—”
“Dillon, man? You need a ride to the hotel?” David Donaldson leaned into the dressing room, peering at them.
Coke scooted back a little, gave him room.
He rolled his head over and stared, trying not to snarl. It wasn’t deliberately bad timing. He knew that. David had been a good bud, but not anymore. Now David was just the ex and an unwelcome fucking interruption.
“If you could give Nate a ride, Coke says he’ll wait for me.”
Coke nodded. “I can take him, man. I’m just helping his legs.”
“Okay, then. Holler if you need me, huh?” David flashed them a genuine smile and wave, and headed out.
Damn, sometimes it sucked to be a bitter old bastard. Still, he had Coke to think about.
“Let’s get your legs wrapped up. I’ll give you another rub-down at the hotel.”
Dillon almost whimpered. “Sure. Okay. I can live with that.”
“You can have a soak in the hot tub in between, if you want—or even a hot bath.” Coke pulled out long-assed elastic bandages, started carefully wrapping his leg, fingers so damn hot on his skin.
“I’ll soak if you come with me.” Their last hot tub soak had been brief and short on privacy. Half the guys had showed up. This time, they would all be on the road. It was only the bullfighters and announcers staying on until morning.
“You know my position on hot tubs, son.”
The touch on the inside of his thigh didn’t feel fatherly at all.
“Uh-huh.” God, what he would give to see Coke’s position in hot tubs. Still, his legs thought he might want to just flirt. Even if he was pushing into Coke’s touch like the slut he was.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you. This should feel good.”
“It does. You have no idea.” His cock was telling him that the pain in his legs was fading, the sensation much more pleasurable.
“Good.” Coke started on the other leg, and Dillon could swear that was another moan. Maybe that was him. He wanted to babble. To wiggle. He settled for pushing against Coke a little with his legs, the warmth seeping through him.
“Okay, honey. Let’s get you to the hotel and in some hot water.”
“Okay.” He held out a hand, letting Coke pull him up. Then he leaned on that solid body, hands on Coke’s arms.
“I got you. They hurt bad?”
“Not really.” He had to be honest. “I told you. Melty.”
“Melty is good.” One hand rubbed his lower back, nice and gentle, over and over.
“It is.” Indulging himself, Dillon leaned harder. “Really good. I like the way you feel, Coke.”
That little rumbling sound was a moan.
It was.
“Come on, Dillon. I’m parked close.”
“Close is also good.” Knowing no one was around, he allowed himself to wrap an arm around Coke’s waist.
Coke eased him out, moving slow and careful. Dillon hummed a little, trying not to dance, because that would make Coke all ‘you can walk on your own’. That was not in the program. Walking on his own would mean not rubbing on that thick thigh, not noticing that heavy erection.
And he noticed. Oh, he noticed. He might even have rubbed on it a little when Coke helped him into the truck. Just with his ass.
Yep. That was a fine, fine moan.
Dillon settled his sore legs, grinning over when Coke got in the truck. “You okay, man? You hurtin’ any?”
“I’m solid as a rock.” Garth Brooks filled the air as the engine turned over.
“Oh. Just wanted to make sure.” Yeah. Coke was rock solid. Even in the low light from the dash he could see that. His mouth watered, and Dillon wanted to touch.
“You, uh. You want something to eat before the hotel?”
“No! I mean, uh, no. I would rather just get something sent up, you know? I’m not sharing this trip, so you could come eat with me.”
“Yeah? Works for me. Nate’s in a mood.”
“Is he okay?” Sometimes Dillon wondered, but Nate was married and lovin’ it, so he never asked.
“His little boy’s got a vicious cold, and his lady is pissed that he’s not flying home tonight.”
“Ah. We could probably get him out, if he really needs to.” It would suck to miss the hot tub, if they had to take Nate to the airport, but a man did what he had to.
“Nah. He’s got a flight at, like, five a.m. He’ll be there early. That’s why he was heading to bed.” Coke winked over. “No interruptions from the old guy.”
“What? Wait. What old guy?” He shook his head, not knowing if Coke was talking about Nate or himself. Somewhere he’d gotten confused.
“Uh. That would be me, son. Remember?”
“No. See, I told you, you’re not old.” Throwing caution to the wind, he reached over and pressed his fingers to Coke’s fly. “Not even close.”
“Oh, fuck.” Coke’s hips bucked, pushing right up toward his touch, the truck weaving.
“No killing us, Coke. We have to get back to the hotel.” Now that he was touching, he couldn’t let go. He rubbed.
“No. No killing. Dillon, Dillon, tell me you ain’t stoned or nothing.” That fat cock throbbed, pushed back against his touch.
“No drugs, and you know I haven’t been drinking.” Tracing that big bulge with his thumb, Dillon worked at the tab of Coke’s jeans.
“Dillon.” The sound of Coke’s voice in that strangled cry was definitely better than ‘son’.
“Oh, I like that. Like that sound. No running off the road, babe.” He was going to explode.
“You gotta stop. I can’t drive and think with your hand on me. I cain’t.”
“Okay.” One last push and he let his fingers slide slowly away. But only because he saw the sign for the hotel on the horizon. “Hurry.”
“You gonna change your mind?” Coke signaled, pulled off,
“No. No, I just want to make sure you don’t.” If one of them was gonna get cold feet, it would be Coke.
“Only if it’s gonna make things weird between us. I don’t want that.”
“Never gonna happen.” Even if Coke never wanted to do it again, they were friends first. Always. “You’re important to me, Coke.”
Coke slid into a parking space, turned to face him, eyes deadly serious. “I done told you. You’re one of my own.”
He reached up and touched that stubbly cheek, loving the feel of Coke’s skin. God knew he’d stared at it long enough.
“Come on. Let’s get your legs inside and into a tub of warm water, hmm?” His heart damn near stopped when Coke leaned into his touch.
“I’m all for it.” And anything else Coke wanted to do.
Even if that ended up being nothing.