Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ryan
I’d never been a sporty guy, but watching Mason lift a huge guy into the air just by supporting his ass was doing a lot of things to me. It was the second sexiest thing I’d ever seen him do, besides get starkers.
Despite the fact Mason had tried to teach me the rules, everything had gone out of my head from the second he’d jogged out onto the pitch, dark blue shorts clinging to his thick thighs. They rode up slightly as he ran, and even more when people tackled him, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the way they highlighted the roundness of his ass.
I’d been worried Rory would notice and start asking awkward questions but if he had noticed, he didn’t say anything. He was also very busy staring at West. The pair of us probably made a right sight, sitting in the stands and staring at these two men with something that could only be described as feral hunger .
Fuck, I needed to get my hands on Mason tonight. He had to know how much I appreciated the hard work he’d put into his legs… and shoulders… and chest… and well, I didn’t want any of him to feel left out.
After the match, I’d met Mason and Jonny in the family lounge and given them both huge hugs, feeling slightly bad I hadn’t watched Jonny that much but remembering to ask about the cotton wool I’d seen being shoved up his nose when he came off.
We’d headed home after that because both of them were starting to mutter about being hungry, even though both of them had emerged from the changing rooms drinking protein smoothies and eating snack bars. I couldn’t imagine the amount of strain their bodies had been through, so I’d offered to cook—mostly because otherwise Jonny would make my dinner the same size as theirs and I didn’t know how to tell him I couldn’t eat a mountain of mashed potato that was bigger than my head.
Mason had bought us some steaks, so while the two of them sat at the kitchen table and gave me a blow-by-blow account of the match—as if I hadn’t just sat through the whole thing—I made creamy, buttery mashed potatoes with a mixture of white and sweet potato, some Jamaican steamed cabbage without the Scotch bonnet pepper because Jonny had no head for spice, some chargrilled vegetables, and finally I cooked the steaks with plenty of butter and seasoning. I’d also made chimichurri because an Argentinian friend had introduced me to it in London when I was at university and I’d fallen in love with it.
“Fuck me, this looks good,” Mason said as soon as I’d told them to start helping themselves from various pans—because none of us were fancy enough to put everything on the table, and even if we had been, I didn’t think any of us owned serving dishes. “You spoil us.”
“Yeah, well, I got to sit in the shade and watch you two haul your asses up and down in the sun for my entertainment. The least I could do was make you dinner,” I said, scooping some cabbage onto my plate before Mason handed me the pan of mash. “And this way I don’t have to put up with Jonny’s version of mash.”
Jonny scoffed. “Yeah, it’s ’cos you put like half a fucking pack of butter in it.”
“If you don’t want it, don’t eat it,” I said teasingly.
“I never said that,” he said, taking the pan out of my hands. “I worked hard today. I’m having all the fucking butter I want. Fuck me, I’m tired.”
“Fucking same, mate,” Mason said as he plated up the steaks. It was a good thing Jonny and Mason got paid as well as they apparently did because they needed it with the amount of food they packed away. If Tesco’s profits were up, it was because of them. I’d always known professional athletes ate a lot, but Mason’s steak was the size of my fucking head.
Apparently he, West, and Jonny had found a good local butcher and befriended them, which was where they managed to find such massive cuts of meat.
Which was also an apt description of Mason’s butt, thighs, and dick, but I was trying very hard not to go there in front of Jonny because I didn’t think he was that unobservant .
We ate in the living room watching old episodes of Buffy , which Mason had started rewatching on his own before Jonny and I had co-opted it, so now we all watched it together. Jonny had never seen it, which was a fucking crime in my opinion, so we were gradually educating him on one of the bastions of pop culture.
And I was enjoying teasing Mason about his very obvious crush on Angel. I mean, the man pretty much stopped breathing whenever David Boreanaz came on screen. The only problem was that I could only tease him when Jonny went into the kitchen or when we were upstairs since Mason still wasn’t ready to talk about being bisexual with our beloved housemate.
“I’m genuinely worried you’re gonna pass out on the sofa one day,” I said when Mason and I took our plates through into the kitchen. “Do I need to splash you with cold water so you remember to breathe properly?”
“Ha ha, you’re a proper joker,” Mason said with a wry smile. He glanced around but Jonny had nipped to the toilet, so we weren’t gonna be overheard. “Angel’s hot. I don’t get why you don’t think so.”
I shrugged. “I always preferred Spike.”
“That’s fucking heresy.” He looked at the piles of pans on the side and sighed. “I suppose I ought to do the washing up.”
“You could leave it until tomorrow.”
“Nah, then the mash’ll be dried on. I’ll get Jonny to give me a hand. Then I’m going to crash out.” He began stacking everything neatly beside the sink. I watched him for a second, then slid in close to him and stood up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear.
“I’m going upstairs now, but you should definitely come to my room later,” I said, resting my hand on the base of his spine—partly for balance and partly because I could let my fingers graze the top of his ass. “We should celebrate your win.”
“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” he said, turning his head so we were nose to nose. It was the closest we’d been outside one of our bedrooms. Upstairs, I could hear Jonny moving around, so I knew we only had about thirty seconds until I had to pull away.
Mason seemed to be thinking the same thing but to my surprise, he didn’t step back.
Instead he leant forward and kissed me, his mouth gentle but insistent. It stunned me for a second because I’d never expected that from him. It felt like a shifting of our agreement, but I couldn’t explain why.
“Sorry,” he said as he slowly pulled back, not sounding sorry at all. “I had to. Your mouth is just…” He reached up and ran his thumb across the bottom of my lip. “Perfect.”
“Don’t apologise then.”
He smiled softly, his thumb still resting on my chin. “Okay.” He kissed me again, the brush of his lips too brief, leaving me wanting so much more. My head spun as he stepped away from me and turned the tap on to start washing up. The bastard had completely turned the tables on me, but I couldn’t be mad.
I was impressed he could leave me reeling with only two kisses .
Impressed. Aroused. And mildly annoyed at how easy it had been for him to send me spinning.
Jonny’s footsteps echoed on the stairs and I swallowed, trying to get my bearings. My eyes lingered on Mason for a second longer before my feet started to carry me towards the door. “I’m going… I need…” I wasn’t sure what I was trying to say but when I got upstairs, my chest was heaving, dizziness making my head swim like I’d staggered off a playground roundabout.
It wasn’t that late, barely eight in the evening. I knew I’d told Mason to come and find me, but now would be too early, wouldn’t it?
I shook my head, trying to rattle some sense into my brain. I’d never gotten so flustered over the idea of Mason sneaking into my room before. It was like some secret spy rendezvous and the fact that he could alter my brain chemistry with a simple kiss was making things worse. Or was it better?
Either way I was officially dazed, confused, and horny as fuck.
Jesus Christ, that man was going to be the death of me. And not in a fun, sexy, playful way. More like my head exploding from trying to contain my whirling, bouncing, hyperactive brain. ADHD could be a real wanker sometimes and coupled with the butterflies of a new… fuck, this wasn’t even a relationship. It was a situationship at best.
An agreement.
A contract.
Without all the formal paperwork and shit.
I groaned and flopped onto my bed, my legs hanging over the side as I buried my head in the duvet. The cover was bright pink and had cowboys and cacti on, because I couldn’t resist. And when I opened my eyes to see a cowboy right in front of my face, my brain, like the fucking wanker it was, decided to start imagining Mason in a cowboy hat and jeans so tight they were practically see-through.
Fuck my life.
I rocked back and forward, hitting my head on the duvet. Nothing good was going to come from continuing this arrangement with Mason. I was in too deep and yet I still insisted on moving forward.
“Everything okay in here?” Mason asked, and I rolled over to see him sticking his head around the door, a concerned frown deepening the skin between his eyebrows. His skin was very pink, turning almost red across his nose and forehead.
“I think you have sunburn,” I said, not getting up but gesturing to his face with an outstretched hand. “Did you put suncream on?”
“Yeah, twice.” He walked over to the floor-length mirror in the corner and peered at himself. “Bollocks. It’s these bloody ginger genes. Every time I step out in the sun, I burn to a fucking crisp.”
“You need to get some of that factor fifty for kids. The waterproof stuff. It’s like glue.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, one of the drag artists I used to work with in Exeter swore by it. Said it was the only thing that would stay on under her make-up. ”
“I’ll give it a try then.” He sighed mournfully, prodding his reddened skin. “I’m not used to playing rugby in this heat. Usually, it’s pissing it with rain and freezing cold.”
“You should still wear UV protection all year round, though,” I said, rolling onto my side and watching him. “Please tell me you have some kind of skincare routine?”
“Er, I wash it? And I’ve got a cleanser and a moisturiser?”
I sighed deeply. “That’s a start at least.”
“Let me guess, you have some thirty-step one with some serum from a secret monastery in the French Alps produced by singing monks?” He smirked at me and leant across the bed for a kiss.
“Cheeky twat,” I said, grabbing one of the decorative pillows from the head of my bed and chucking it at him, but Mason just sidestepped it and flopped onto the bed, practically tackling me as he pulled me into his arms and kissed the side of my head.
“Hey, you shaved,” he said, kissing my head again, his lips soft against the smooth skin.
“Yeah, it was starting to itch and it’s a sensory nightmare, especially when it’s hot and my head gets sweaty.” I shuddered. I’d been shaving my head for the past few years and had fallen in love with how it both looked and felt. There weren’t many people who could rock the fuck out of being bald, both in and out of drag, but it suited my face shape and my style and I adored it. Plus it solved the problem of how itchy and wrong my head felt under wigs.
Now I just sprayed my smooth, dark scalp with glitter or stuck gemstones to it, celebrating myself for who I was: a Black, bald, nerdy, sexy drag artist and graphic designer extraordinaire.
“It suits you,” Mason said. He was smiling at me, a warm affection burning behind his eyes. “You’re so gorgeous, Ryan.”
“Thanks. You’re pretty fucking handsome yourself.” I twisted in his arms and kissed him softly, luxuriating in the taste of him and the feel of his lips against mine. They were slightly chapped but soft around the edges. I hummed happily as we kissed, our tongues lazily brushing against each other. This wasn’t kissing to get somewhere; this was kissing for kissing’s sake and I loved it.
Mason tightened his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I felt his semi digging into my hip. I grinned and slowly ground against him, casually suggesting more without having to tear my mouth away. Mason groaned, his kisses turning more urgent. He nipped my lip and then pulled away to trail kisses across my jaw and down my neck, licking and sucking his way across my skin.
“Can I… can I try something?” he asked. “Please.”
“What is it?” I asked as I tipped my head back, giving him more access to my neck and chest as he moved, sliding a little further down my body and off the bed.
“Can I eat your ass? I really want to taste you. Bet you’ll taste so fucking sweet for me.”
I moaned, my legs shamelessly falling open because fuck, I wanted that. “Yes… fuck yes, baby. I want that too.”
Mason trailed kisses across my collar as he reached for the waistband on the loose shorts I’d thrown on when we’d come home. “I promise to make it good. You know I’ve got a talented tongue.”
I groaned, almost wanting to laugh at how fucking sweet this man was. Did he not know how damn adorable he was like this? All needy and willing to please. “I know you will,” I said. “You’re always so good for me, Mason.”
The eager smile on his face was something I’d never forget.
And as he trailed his mouth down my body, tugging off my shorts and underwear, I knew he was going to absolutely fucking ruin me.
And I welcomed my destruction with open arms.