Chapter 17
Thirst Trap
Gavin
Walking back to the frat house, I can't stop smiling. My lips are still tingling. I can still feel him in my arms, the way he wrapped around me as if he belonged there.
My dick is aching and semi-hard in my jeans, which makes walking awkward, but I don't care. Doc kissed me. Kissed me like he wanted to climb inside my skin. Made these little noises that I'm going to be replaying for weeks.
The frat house looks like Cupid threw up on it. Pink and red hearts everywhere, streamers hanging from every surface. Emily must be back with Drew.
"Gavin!” Tyler calls from the living room. "How'd it go?"
I wander in to find most of the guys sprawled around watching some action movie. My smile must be weird because Rex immediately goes, "Oh shit, he's broken."
"Look at that grin," Ian laughs. "Boy got laid."
"I didn't—" I start, then notice James has Caleb pressed against the wall by the stairs, kissing him like the world's ending. "Uh."
"Yeah, they've been like that for an hour," Tyler says. "It's been educational."
As if on cue, Ethan appears at the top of the stairs in one of Tyler's shirts and nothing else. "Tyler! You coming back up or—" He spots me. "Oh! Gavin! How was your date?"
"Good," I manage, trying not to look at his bare legs. Not in a weird way, just in a 'my best friend's boyfriend is barely dressed' way.
Tyler's already moving, throwing Ethan over his shoulder in one smooth motion. Ethan shrieks, laughing as Tyler carries him back to bed.
"Get it, VP!” someone yells.
"Use protection!” Rex adds.
"Shut up!” Tyler yells back, but he's laughing.
I drop onto the couch, still grinning like an idiot. My friends are happy. I just had the best makeout session of my life. Everything is fucking perfect.
"G's got that 'I just discovered dick' glow," Rex observes.
"It's a good look on him," Jeff says, making everyone laugh.
I flip them off half-heartedly, but I can't stop smiling. Let them tease. Nothing can touch me right now.
I kissed a boy. My boyfriend. And I'm going to do it again as soon as possible.
Best Valentine's Day ever.
The sun's beating down on the track, and I'm already sweating through warm-ups. Shot put first, then hammer throw. It should be an easy meet; our only real competition is Cal State, and their best thrower pulled his rotator cuff last week.
"Gavin! Gavin! Gavin!"
I turn to see Max bouncing on the bleachers like an excited puppy, with Haru laughing beside him. And there's Doc, pretending to read a textbook, but his eyes are tracking my every move.
My boyfriend. Still feels weird thinking that word.
Good weird though. Really fucking good weird.
"Course he's got a book at a track meet," Devin laughs. "Nerd. Cute though." He's stretching for his 400m, all compact muscle and explosive energy. "He the one who had you floating around practice last week?"
"Shut up."
"Bro, you literally walked into a tackling dummy. Coach thought you had a concussion."
"I was thinking about plays."
"Sure you were." Devin grins. "That why you were humming? Strategic humming?"
I flip him off and head over to the half fence separating the field from the stands. Max immediately starts wolf-whistling.
"Wow, Gavin! That uniform!" He fans himself dramatically. "How does it even fit? It's like... painted on."
"I told Coach I need a bigger size." I grab my water bottle, very aware of how the shirt rides up. "Think I put on some muscle."
"It's perfect," Max sighs dreamily. Then yelps when Doc elbows him. "What? I'm just appreciating the aesthetic!"
"The aesthetic," Haru repeats, his English getting better every day. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Doc's face is pink, his textbook forgotten in his lap. He's trying so hard not to stare at where my shorts are riding up my thighs. Adorable.
"You guys staying for the whole meet?" I ask, taking a long drink. A drop of sports drink runs down my chin, and I catch Doc's eyes following it down my neck.
"Wouldn't miss it," Max says. "Right, Seb? Gotta support your guy."
"I'm here to study," he mutters, but he's still watching that droplet trail down to my collarbone.
Time to be a little shit. I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it off in one smooth motion, using it to wipe my face. All three of them go silent.
"What?" Playing innocent. "It's hot out here."
Max makes a strangled noise. Haru mutters in Japanese and it sounds appreciative. And Doc...
Doc's actually drooling. Just a little in the corner of his mouth. His eyes are locked on my abs like they hold the secrets of the universe.
"I should, um." He swallows hard. "Get back to studying."
"Sure, babe." I stretch my arms overhead, feeling my shorts ride even lower. "I'll just be over here. Throwing heavy things. Getting all sweaty."
"Sweet mechanical mercy," Max whispers.
"Roberts! You're up!" Coach Wilson calls.
I wink at Doc and jog back to the throwing circle. Maybe showing off a little in how I move, letting him see how all this muscle works together. The shot put's familiar weight grounds me, and I settle into position.
First throw's decent, 58.8 feet. But I can do better. I catch Doc watching over his textbook, and I puff out my chest.
Second throw, 59.2 feet. Getting there.
I feel Doc's eyes on me, even from across the field. My chest tightens. My legs buzz. Don’t screw this up, impress him, impress him.
Third throw, I think about his hands on me last week, the way he pushed me against his bedroom door and kissed me until I forgot my own name. The shot put flies.
"Holy shit! 62.8!" Devin yells, jogging over from the track. "That's a personal record, man!"
"Thanks." I'm already looking at the bleachers, though.
"Damn, you got it bad," Devin laughs. "Go talk to your guy. I gotta warm up for the 200."
I look over at the bleachers. Max is cheering, Haru's clapping politely, and Doc's staring at me with this expression that makes my whole body flush hot.
Hammer throw goes just as well. My form's perfect, muscles moving in sync, and I can feel Doc's eyes on me the whole time. Second place, but only by an eighth of a inch.
When I make it back to the fence, Haru and Max are grinning like idiots.
"That was very impressive," Haru says carefully. "Your... technique."
"My technique?"
"So much technique," Max agrees. "All that spinning and... muscles and..."
"Shut up," Doc hisses, but he's bright red.
I collapse onto the grass by the fence, purposely flexing as I lean back on my hands. "Miss me?"
"You were gone fifteen minutes," Doc says, but his voice comes out rough.
"Longest fifteen minutes of Seb's life," Max stage-whispers.
Doc throws a pencil at him. I laugh reaching up to catch it mid-air, which makes all three of them stare again.
"Reflexes." When they stare at me, I say, "Football."
"Right. Football." Doc's voice is definitely strained. "That's... that's good."
Haru checks his phone and makes an apologetic face. "I have to go. Group project." He stands, then pauses. "Gavin-san, you did very well. And Sebastian-san..." He says something quiet that I don't catch, but it makes Doc turn even redder.
After he leaves, it's just the three of us. Max starts pointing out some runners warming up.
"Oh, check out their uniforms! Rainbow patches!"
I follow his finger to see a couple of athletes with small pride patches on their jerseys. There’s a twist in my chest, not bad, just... complicated.
"That's cool," I say. "Would've gotten your ass kicked for that back home."
Max perks up. "Really? Where are you from again?"
"Idaho. Small town. Like, really small." I pick at the grass. "Everything here is just... different."
"Different how?" Max asks, genuinely curious.
I think about how to explain about Friday night football and Sunday morning church, and how everyone knew everyone's business. About keeping your head down, your mouth shut, and never, ever being different.
"My mom died when I was nine," I hear myself saying. Max makes a soft sound but doesn't interrupt. "And my dad, he..."
Fuck. Why am I talking about this?
"He isn't a good man. Used his fists until I got too big, then switched to words. Told me real men don't cry. Real men play football. Real men date cheerleaders and marry their high school sweethearts and have kids and never, ever look at other boys."
"Gavin," Max whispers.
"My brother Troy tore his ACL doing something stupid while drunk. Lost his scholarship here. He's stuck there now, angry at everything. And my cousin Clint, he's just like my dad. Maybe worse."
The words keep spilling out. About the bruises I hid under football pads. About learning to be quiet so Mom wouldn't worry. About how even after she died, I could hear her voice saying, "Don't make him mad, baby."
"They visit sometimes. Troy and Clint. Drive down from that trade school Clint goes to, spend the weekend telling me I'm getting soft. California's making me weak. Last time they came, they saw me hugging a teammate after a win and..." I shrug. "Haven't seen them since October."
"Good!" Max says fiercely. "They sound horrible!"
"They're family."
"Family doesn't mean shit if they treat you like that." Doc's voice is hard, angry. When did he put his book down? "Blood doesn't give them the right to hurt you."
"I know. I mean, logically I know, but—"
I'm cut off by Max practically launching himself over the fence to hug me. It's awkward with the bar between us, but he manages it.
"Max, what—"
"Shut up and accept the hug," he orders. "You deserve so many hugs."
Then Doc is pressed against my other side, hand firm on my shoulder.
"Uh, guys?" I'm torn between embarrassment and a warmth blooming in my chest. "People are staring."
"Let them," Doc says against my ear.
Devin jogs past and mouths, "What the hell did you do?" at me. I wave him off, letting myself sink into the embrace. When was the last time someone hugged me just because?
"Roberts! Final call for discus!"
"Shit." I reluctantly pull away. "I gotta—"
"Go." Doc squeezes my shoulder. "We'll be here."
"Cheering!" Max adds. "Loudly!"
The discus event passes in a blur. All I can think about is Doc's fierce voice saying family doesn't mean shit if they hurt you. Max's immediate, unquestioning hug. The way they both just... accepted it. Accepted me.
By the time events wrap up, I'm buzzing. Not caffeine-buzzing, just this full-body vibration that starts in my chest and radiates outward. Like I'm a dog who just got told we're going to the park.
It's Max throwing himself at me without a second thought, just because I told him something that hurt. No weird "damn, that sucks" or uncomfortable quiet. Just instant, fierce warmth like I actually deserved to feel better.
It's Doc's voice going hard and protective, ready to throw down with my whole family. The guy who's gonna be a doctor someday, who'll save lives, but right now wants to wreck anyone who hurts me. Nobody's ever been pissed off for me before.
I belong here. With these weird, wonderful people who see my mess and don't flinch. Who hears about my shit family and pulls me closer instead of backing away.
Back home, showing weakness got you targeted. Here, you get hugged by a robotics genius over a metal fence while your boyfriend plots anatomically accurate revenge.
Is this what safety feels like? This warm feeling in my chest that makes me want to laugh and cry and hug everyone at the same time?
Fuck, maybe California is making me soft. But I think I like it.
"First in shot put!" Max cheers as I approach. "Second in hammer throw! You’re amazing!"
"You did good," Doc says quietly, and that means as much as all of Max's enthusiasm.
"Thanks. I'm gonna hit the showers, get the trainer to look at my thigh. It's been spasming."
"Are you okay?" Max looks worried again.
"I'm good, promise." I accept another hug because apparently that's what we do now. "Just pushed a little hard."
"I'll wait," Doc says. "If you want?"
"Yeah?" I try not to sound too eager. "I mean, if you don't mind. Might be a while."
"I've got time."
Max makes exaggerated kissing noises until Doc shoves him. "And that's my cue to leave. Some of us have actual plans tonight."
"Netflix alone in your room isn't 'plans'," Sebastian says.
"It's Netflix and a face mask, thank you very much. Self-care, Doc. Look it up."
They bicker all the way off the bleachers while I head to the locker room, grinning like an idiot.