Chapter 27 Luc
TWENTY-SEVEN
LUC
I don’t get home until nearly two o’clock in the morning. Our flight out of Atlanta was delayed due to reports of drone activity near the airport after one was seen following our bus from the stadium to the private terminal.
The team has been getting a lot of press.
We’re headed to our first post-season games in franchise history.
The game against Atlanta was hard fought, but we pulled ahead by a field goal in the fourth quarter and maintained the lead, making us undefeated in the regular season.
We’re headed for the playoffs and favored to win the conference title, putting us one step closer to the Super Bowl.
That could be why the drone was following us.
Championship teams and players obviously tend to get more press attention.
There have been multiple occasions where sneaky photographers or drones have been used to leak practice footage leading up to championship games.
I’ve caught a few side-eye glances from curious teammates, but I don’t think there’s any reason to worry that the press is on to me and Jesse.
I know he’s here. He texted around midnight that he’d arrived safely and quietly. There weren’t any obvious photographers around my condo when I was dropped off, and if the doorman was aware that Jesse is here, he didn’t breathe a word or give any indication he’d seen him.
I tiptoe inside, not wanting to wake him up if he’s asleep. After stashing my away bag in the laundry room to deal with tomorrow, I sneak down the hall and push open the door to my bedroom. He’s not in my bed, but there is a flickering light coming from the cracked bathroom door.
Quietly, I poke my head in and find Jesse in my oversized tub that rarely sees any use. There are candles everywhere. The glass panes of the shower are fogged with humidity, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla.
“Welcome home,” he says huskily, his wet, naked body hidden from view by a layer of bubbles. The candlelight catches on his glistening skin, making him glow like some kind of otherworldly being. A siren, maybe.
The last four days without him melt off me, and in an instant, I’m on my knees at the side of the tub, kissing him.
His wet hands grip my biceps before moving to the hem of my hoodie.
He pushes the fabric up my torso, splaying his fingers over my abs, and up my chest, until I reach back to help him pull the hoodie and my shirt over my head.
His hands move to my hips next, pushing his fingers under the waistband of my athletic pants.
Chuckling, I take the hint and stand, stripping out of the rest of my clothes and slipping in behind Jesse.
He relaxes back against my chest, and I wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him in closer.
“I missed you,” I mumble into his hair that he’s trimmed and re-dyed so his dark roots aren’t showing.
“I can tell,” Jesse chuckles, pushing his ass back against my involuntary reaction to his presence, which is aggressively jabbing him in his lower back.
My shoulders shake. “Sorry.” I’m really not trying to make everything about my dick, in fact we both spent the entirety of last week making a point not to have sex so we could connect on a different level.
But he’s here. In my lap. Naked. And wet.
There’s not much I can do about my dick other than put space between us.
But I don’t want to. “Ignore that. I want to be close to you.”
“The hell I will,” he says, turning his shoulders to look at me. “Luc, I miss you. I need you. Please touch me.”
Barely holding in a growl, I pull him even tighter against my chest. One hand presses him against me, while the other moves over his abs and down to wrap around his hard cock. He hisses and bucks, laying his head back on my shoulder and moaning when I begin to stroke him.
“I’m– ungh– I’m prepped.”
It takes me a moment to process what he’s saying, but my eyes cut to a bottle of silicone-based lube sitting on the edge of the tub. I move my hand lower, feel the base of a plug nestled in his ass, and groan.
My lips trail along the back of his neck. As hard as it is to deny him anything, I’m not sure what the rules are about all this bath shit getting inside him. “I don’t know–"
“You don’t have to fuck me,” he says quickly. “Just let me feel you inside me. Please.”
Does he think I don’t want to fuck him? Does he think I’m rejecting him?
A mixture of emotions, from heartache to lust, settle in my chest and make it hard to breathe, much less speak. Turning his chin towards me, I open my mouth to explain myself, but I can’t get the words out. The look in his eyes and the desperate way he kisses me renders me incapable.
It takes some finagling to get adjusted, but soon we’re both letting out heavy breaths as Jesse sinks down until his ass is flush against my hips, my cock fully engulfed by his tight, hot body.
We don’t move for a while, content to be connected like this, as close as humanly possible.
Jesse’s body, half out of the water now that he’s on top of me, begs to be touched.
My hands caress and massage him everywhere I can reach, roaming over his shoulders and chest, down his stomach and between his thighs.
He whimpers and clenches whenever my fingers play over his nipples or trace along the V of his abs.
When it almost becomes too much, I take him in hand, wrapping my fingers around his cock and slowly, gently stroking, teasing him until he’s writhing and grinding, wordlessly begging for friction.
The pulsing of his rim around the base of my cock becomes its own kind of slow torture, but I sink into it, hungry for the contact, relishing the closeness of being connected this way. I edge us both until the water cools and it hurts too much to hold off any longer.
Jesse’s cry echoes off the tile, his hands white-knuckling the edge of the tub while he shakes in my arms. Cum shoots up his chest, splattering in the water, and coating my hand as I work every drop from him.
My thighs flex, grinding my cock deeper as he pulses around me, and I spasm almost violently, biting into my bottom lip hard enough to break skin, unloading inside him.
Along with the physical release, the orgasm jostles something inside me loose. I’m thankful his back is to me as I hold him close and tremble. My eyes leak an emotion I’ve never named out loud before this man broke me into pieces and rebuilt me into what I am now.
A while later, when we’ve rinsed and dried off and I’m listening to the sounds of Jesse’s rhythmic breathing next to me in bed, I whisper into the nape of his neck.
“I love you, Jesse Moore.”
Our first loss of the season is my fault. Or, at least, I blame myself for it.
I’m too tired, too distracted, to do much more than stumble around on autopilot. Neither my heart nor my head are in the game. My heart is back at home where Jesse is waiting for me. My head is bogged down by the pressure of the upcoming playoffs and the unrelenting circus Jesse’s life has become.
The press still hasn’t let go of the possibility that I’m the mystery man in Jesse’s leaked videos, and speculation continues to grow even though Jesse has stepped out of the public eye for the time being.
I’m trying to be strong. I meant what I told Jesse.
I care more about being with him than I do keeping our relationship quiet, but the attention is starting to affect the team as well.
Press and paparazzi constantly congregate outside the team’s facilities, hounding the coaches and staff and other players, yelling intrusive questions about how they feel about me and my private life.
Even worse, it’s following me to the field, where opposing players have made it their mission to shake us any way they know how.
Just before the snap, the player opposite me makes a joke about getting shafted by the last flag that was thrown.
His teammate next to him says, “At least it wasn’t pierced,” and throws a knowing smirk in my direction.
“Keep it together, Martín,” Treyden calls as the line moves.
I stumble on the snap. My foot falters as I lurch forward, and I find myself at an awkward angle when a linebacker slams into me like a bus.
The wind is knocked from my chest, my feet are taken out from under me, and I land hard on my shoulder.
Pain ricochets through me so sharply I worry I’ve dislocated it.
It’s not, thank God, but it’s bad enough to put me on the bench for the rest of the game.
Dallas keeps their momentum and pushes forward through the end zone, landing a 17-24 loss squarely on my swollen shoulder.
After the game, I see the trainers and sit in an ice bath long enough that most of my teammates have cleared out of the locker room by the time I’m done. Coach is waiting for me when I’m dressed and ready to leave. He pulls me into his office and shuts the door behind us.
“How’s the shoulder?” he asks, voice low.
I know him well enough to know he already knows everything there is to know about my injury, but I take the opportunity to bullshit my way through my assurances that I’ll be fine for the next game.
“You might be fine for next weekend, but if you take another hit like that, you’re going to be on the bench for the rest of the season. I need you in top condition for the playoffs.”
“Yes, sir,” I say robotically, knowing I’m likely to get benched for next week’s game.
Whether it’s best for me or not, no player likes riding the bench when their team needs them.
Especially when it’s late in the season and we’re all exhausted.
These last couple of games won’t take us out of the playoffs, but they can still mess with our stats and confidence this close to the end.
“You’ve got a lot going on right now, and a championship season just around the corner. I’m going to recommend that you take some time off.”
My head snaps up to look at him. He has to be kidding, right? “What?”
“Go home, Luc. Go see your family, spend time with your loved ones, work your shit out.” He doesn’t say the words, but I can read between the lines. I’ve got a mountain of very public bullshit that I need to figure out. “Get some rest over the holiday and come back ready to win that ring.”
There’s no room for argument. I can’t decide if this is a favor he’s doing for me, or if it’s a warning of things to come. Either way, I know he’s right.
When I’m unlocking my condo door less than an hour later, there’s part of me that is thankful for the break. Not just because of my shoulder, or because it’d be nice to hide from the public eye for a little while, but because I can spend some more time with him.
Jesse waits for me, sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter with an ice pack in one hand and a look of concern darkening his bright green eyes.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, but let him dote on me anyway.
Over the week that he’s been here, I’ve learned how much he likes meeting me at the front door with a cold drink, his warm, wet mouth, or a song to welcome me home. I could certainly get used to seeing his smiling face every day.
I refrain from nipping at his concerned, pouty lip while he strips me of my jacket and shirt to survey the damage.
My shoulder is bruised and sore, but it’s really nothing to worry about.
Coach sending me home has more to do with my personal life bleeding into my professional one than anything else.
I don’t complain or argue when I’m led towards the bedroom for a massage.
Yeah, I could get used to this.
“It’s a good thing that wasn’t awkward at all,” I groan, leaning my forehead against the back of the door I just closed behind us.
Jesse chuckles. “I don’t know, I don’t think it was too bad. Not sure your dad is a fan, though,” he says, twisting his lips. “He didn’t seem the type that could be easily bought with concert merch and a video call with Naz, but it was worth a try.”
“It worked on my sisters, though, so you have that going for you.”
I’m not sure what I expected when I brought Jesse home for the holiday break. I knew my sisters would be cool, they let me know as much when we talked over Thanksgiving. Jesse really didn’t have to put any effort into winning them over, but he’s Jesse, so of course he went above and beyond.
My dad is a different story. If anything, Jesse’s attempts to win everyone’s favor with grand gestures and an arm full of presents probably put him off more than the tattoos and facial piercings. Or, you know, that he’s a guy.
To be fair, I never once said a word about anything that’s been going on or that I was dating anyone other than letting him know I was bringing someone home for the holiday. I didn’t even ask permission. I just said it was happening and showed up with Jesse’s hand wrapped in mine.
Dad, not surprisingly, didn’t really react at all other than to stare wide-eyed at my sisters, who took it upon themselves to jump up and down and scream excitedly.
Not embarrassing at all.
“I should probably go talk to him,” I say quietly, wrapping my arms around Jesse when he steps into my space. His arms snake around my waist and his head nuzzles against my neck.
“Want to take the edge off first?”
My chuckle turns into a groan as Jesse palms my growing bulge and kisses down my neck and chest, slowly dropping to his knees.