Chapter Eight
Hunter
“Have you seen my lucky pants?” Bailey asked, throwing things randomly out of his bag and searching through his locker with a worried frown on his face.
It was the end of September, which meant the new Premiership season was finally kicking off and Bailey was deep in his pre-match superstitions, which meant he wanted the pair of pants he’d decided were his current luckiest pair.
If he hadn’t been so wound up, I’d have laughed because we’d already played a couple of matches in a knockout competition this season, and he hadn’t given a shit what pants he’d been wearing.
For our match against Leeds last weekend, he’d even worn some of mine.
Luckily, nobody in the dressing room had noticed.
Or if they had, then they hadn’t said anything, which I appreciated.
Mind you, with how entwined our lives were, maybe it didn’t even register to our teammates as weird.
I wasn’t going to ask anyone about it, though.
Not right now, when we were all focused on getting ready and finding the right headspace.
“Which ones? With the bananas on?” I asked as I pulled my shorts on, my eyes scanning my own locker in case I had them.
“Those are the lucky spare ones,” Bailey said. “I want the actual lucky ones. With the rubber ducks.”
“Can’t you wear the banana ones?”
“I guess, but it’s not the same.”
“Stand here, let me look,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder and steering him into my spot so I could step behind him and get a better look at his locker.
It was a mess, but that wasn’t new. Neither of us was very tidy.
The only thing that forced us to sort our shit out at home was that we’d realised neither of us wanted to look our cleaner, Paul, in the face when the house was trashed.
“You washed them, right? And put them in your bag? I thought I saw them in the washing basket,” I continued as I carefully rummaged through Bailey’s bag, taking out his phone, sports tape, other pants, spare phone charger, socks, headphones, and several empty protein bar wrappers.
“Yeah, I think so. I don’t even wear them that much, so I don’t see why they’d be dirty. I don’t want to waste the luck on random shit.”
“Makes sense.” I moved his match kit, which Niall, the kit man, had left carefully folded for him to wear in his locker, and sighed as I saw a familiar scrap of bright blue and yellow fabric. “You mean these pants?”
Bailey flushed as I handed them to him. “Oh… where were they?”
“Under your kit.”
“I looked there.”
“Well, that’s where they were.” I wasn’t going to give him shit for not looking properly now. I could do it later, when he was less wound up about the match.
We swapped places again and Bailey began to strip at speed, stuffing his clothes into his bag before pulling on his rubber duck underwear, and I tried not to look at the way they got caught under his arse cheeks or the way his arse bounced as he tugged them into place.
Staring at my best friend’s arse was not something I was supposed to do in public.
In private, that was different.
“This is a very cosy conversation. How’re you two not ready yet?
” Mason asked as he strolled past, pausing to look at us carefully.
He was one of the props and responsible for lifting me during the lineouts.
I was very comfortable having his hands on my arse and my thighs, which was something that could only be said about rugby.
For a game which could be very bloody and brutal, there was a surprising amount of intimacy between players.
It always felt ironic that some of the guys I’d grown up playing with were homophobic dickheads when they regularly had their heads between other men’s thighs, but none of them liked it when I’d pointed that out.
Apparently, it wasn’t gay if you were all doing it.
I did not have the energy to unpack all of that bullshit with them.
“I couldn’t find my lucky pants,” Bailey said, gesturing at his underwear as he grabbed his shorts. “I can’t play without them.”
“Why not? It’s not like you have to do much. You just stand there and look pretty,” Mason said with a shit-eating grin.
“Bite me, wanker!”
“Ask nicely and I might say yes.”
“Fuck you,” Bailey said, laughing.
“Again, you’ve gotta ask nicely. Say please first. And maybe buy me a drink.” He winked. “Then again, I don’t think you’d be able to handle me.”
“You’re a fucking menace, Ledford,” Bailey said. “I feel sorry for your boyfriend being stuck with your bratty arse.”
“Trust me, you don’t need to worry.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “And that’s all we need to know about your sex life.”
“Why? Does it bother you?” Mason asked.
“Yes. But mostly because I don’t want to think about any of your sex lives,” I said, nodding my head vaguely at the whole room.
We were close, but not that close, and I didn’t need to know what any of them liked in bed.
We’d already gotten enough hints from Devon about what he and Jonny got up to considering how often he came in with hickeys all over his inner thighs.
And considering Bailey and I had banged Jonny’s little brother, I didn’t even want to think about any potential similarities. That was gross.
“Aww, rude,” Mason said. “Why not? You see us naked enough.”
“Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” I asked, looking around for West, our first-choice hooker and Mason’s best friend. “West, come get your prop. He’s being a dickhead.”
“Why? What’s he doing?” West asked as he glanced up from where he was lacing his boots.
He’d been the first player on the Knights to be openly queer, coming out as bisexual several years ago.
He’d never really made a big deal out of it and never wanted to talk much about it in the press, but he’d also never shied away from it.
He’d been very solid and stoic about the whole thing, which was kind of West to a tee.
I didn’t know if he knew how much impact he’d had by quietly but publicly being bi, but it was probably more than he realised.
Although recently he’d been more open about it, posting more about his fiancé—who was a local drag artist—and even doing some interviews with a couple of social platforms and newspapers.
I’d never come out to the team as bi, but West was part of the reason I’d always felt safe here.
He’d helped forge the welcoming environment I’d never experienced anywhere else and didn’t know if I ever would.
The Knights were unique, and we were all very protective of that.
It was part of the reason Bailey and I never wanted to move clubs.
And I was pretty sure we weren’t the only ones who felt that way.
“Being a wanker,” Bailey said as he grabbed his shirt and pulled it on.
“And? Tell me something new.”
“Oi, I heard that,” Mason said, flipping West off playfully. “I thought you loved me.”
“I do. That’s how I know you’re a wanker.”
“Who’s a wanker?” Devon asked, appearing from behind Mason with a curious smile on his face. The fly-half was holding a half-eaten banana, one earbud in his ear and his boots laced tightly with rainbow laces.
“Me,” Mason said. “Because Hunter doesn’t want to see me naked.”
Devon snorted. “Only Ryan wants to do that.”
“You think I’m sexy too. I definitely have the best tits out of everyone in this room.” He folded his arms across his impressive chest to emphasise his point.
“God, you’re such a needy bottom,” Devon muttered.
“Pot kettle black,” Mason said, shooting the fly-half a pointed look.
I bit my lip and glanced at Bailey, wondering whether to interrupt them or not.
I decided against it because there was no way in hell I wanted to risk Devon figuring out things about me that I was only just working out for myself.
I didn’t think he had special queer powers but he was perceptive as fuck.
Except about himself, but who was, really?
“By the way,” Mason said, louder this time. “Ryan messaged to say he and Rory had found Aiden. They’re all sitting together.”
“Perfect,” Devon said. He kept talking, saying something about hoping they had fun and us putting on a good show. But I was staring at Bailey, both of us straining to keep the shock off our faces.
Aiden was here.
He’d mentioned trying to come up for it. Several times actually. But he’d never confirmed anything.
Not that he had to. I mean, it wasn’t like we all talked a lot. Maybe once a week. Or every couple of weeks if we were busy. And it wasn’t ever anything serious.
The conversations pretty much always followed the same pattern: one of us would send something to the group chat—either a picture or a vague message—there’d be some brief pleasantries, and then we’d have hot-as-fuck phone sex.
Once or twice we’d all chatted about other stuff, mostly training or work, and Aiden had sent us some cute pictures of him at Leicester Pride, but it was never deep.
It still stung, though, to know he was here and he hadn’t told us. We’d talked about meeting up again, but maybe…
Fuck! I wished I could shut out all the noise so I could talk to Bailey without everyone else listening in.
Bailey had scrunched up his face, which meant he was cross. He was ignoring Devon and Mason now and putting everything back in his bag with enough force that someone was bound to notice something was off.
Hopefully, they’d just think Bailey was wound up about the start of the season.
He grabbed his phone and glanced at it briefly. His eyes went wide, his mouth twitching.
“What’s up?” I asked, stepping close to him and putting my back to Devon and Mason, who were still chatting right behind us.
A tiny grin curled the corner of Bailey’s mouth as he tapped the screen then turned it slightly so I could see.
Aiden
[Sent a picture] I was told there’d be hot rugby players here. Know where I can find some?
My heart did a funny jump at the selfie of him in the stands, the pitch visible over his shoulder. Had he planned this? He must have done.
That was… sweet.
Yeah. Sweet.
And—
“Okay, boys, are we all ready to go?” Matty asked, his voice cutting through my wandering thoughts as he clapped his hands to get our attention.
He smiled around at us, and all I could think of was a dad waiting to get the attention of his kids.
Our captain might not be the only parent on the team, but he gave off the most dad vibes. “I want a huddle in five.”
“Yeah, just about,” I muttered, grabbing my boots as Bailey pulled on his socks. There was a flurry of activity as everyone finished preparing, one of the physios running around to finish strapping up those who needed it. I’d need some tape on my legs for the scrum, but I could do that if needed.
“Do you think we’ll be able to see him later?” Bailey asked as he laced up his boots and ran his hand nervously through his hair. “I mean, he must want to see us, right? Otherwise why would he send that?”
“I’m gonna say yes, he does,” I said. “Think positive, B. That’s all we can do.”
It was a note for myself as much as him.
“Yeah, yeah. We should.” He nodded and stood, shaking his legs out. Then he grinned, and I could practically see renewed confidence and excitement flooding through him. “Guess we better put on a good show then.”
“Guess we should.” I smirked and stretched, the idea of showing off for Aiden making my dick throb in my shorts.
After all, I had to earn my reward somehow.
And I really wanted him to fuck me again.