26. Chapter 26
By nine the next morning, it was very clear that the soreness Beau had predicted was kicking in.
Of course he tried to hide it, but four hours into his workday, Colt was turning to look at things with his whole torso.
It would have been funny if it weren't for the fact that Colt was compensating so much he was fixing to make things worse when the rest of his muscles got overworked.
“You use that compress like I told you to?” He leaned his hip against the workbench. Colt twisted his whole body to look at him. “I'll take the fact that you just turned like Batman as a no.”
“You watch Batman?” Colt narrowed his eyes. “Kinda pictured you as a Clint Eastwood type of guy.”
“Mhmm.” Beau crossed his arms. “Answer the question, Rourke.”
Colt lowered his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck. “It didn't hurt so bad last night. And I was so tired, I just…went to sleep?”
The right thing to do would be to send him home with strict care instructions. Ice. Heat. Ibuprofen.
“Come on, boy.” He sighed and slipped off the arms of his coveralls, tying them around his waist as he walked away.
Colt would follow. Beau didn't bother checking.
When they reached Beau's office, he shut the door and opened the bottom drawer on his desk to pull out a jar of tiger balm. “Sit down. Chest against the chair.”
“Yessir, Bossman,” Colt agreed.
Beau dropped the balm on the desk and went into the bathroom attached to his office to wash his hands, and by the time he came back, Colt was settled on the chair with his back to Beau.
Shirtless.
Hell.
Beau had seen Colt in torn-up shirts he insisted were clothes. He'd seen glimpses of his front when he wiped his face with his hem. Even the way he pushed Colt until he was dripping sweat showed a lot through soaked fabric.
Still, after the past two days, nothing really could have prepared Beau for seeing Colt spread out over Beau's office chair without a stitch above his waistband.
They'd spent months honing Colt’s body, and it showed in every defined muscle, in the strong back leading to a trim waist. The kind of back it was nice to look at from above, writhing and—
Beau cleared his throat and shook his head, picking up the balm so he could open the jar. “This one bites,” he warned as he approached and took some in his hand. “But sit through it, and it'll make things a whole lot better.”
“It smells like spicy VapoRub,” Colt said as he wiggled into a more comfortable position.
“Mhmm. Now hold still.”
He rubbed the balm between his hands and settled them at the base of Colt’s neck. Dug his thumbs in and ran them up to Colt’s skull. Well used to the feeling by now, Beau welcomed the slight cold burn of the balm as he worked it into Colt's traps and upper lats.
Colt, of course, was not prepared. It was clear he was trying to stay still, but as Beau dug the heel of his palm in, Colt shifted.
Beau paused. “Hold still.”
“Sorry,” Colt said.
They continued, Colt trying not to squirm as Beau sought out knots and tightness. He was working his thumbs into a particularly nasty knot—nearly had it, too. Just a bit more. The knot loosened, and Colt gave a gasp. His back rose and fell quickly just once, and Beau paused before moving on.
He'd just released another one and gotten that same little gasp, but this gasp was followed by a breathy, whispered, “Fuck.”
Heat slipped down Beau's spine. He took the quietest breath he could manage and moved on, but Colt was squirming again, and Beau was on edge. He grabbed the scruff of Colt’s neck and squeezed, gentle but firm, and Colt sucked in a tight inhale.
“Still, boy.”
“Okay,” Colt said, voice thick.
Christ.
He continued anyway, smoothing his hands and the balm along Colt’s shoulders, down his lats again.
“Just like that,” Beau found himself saying as he followed Colt’s spine with a thumb on either side, and Colt remained perfectly still, just like Beau had told him to be. “That's real good.”
A quiet, wanting sound escaped Colt’s throat, and Beau forced himself not to freeze.
Don't let him know you're noticing. You can't. Just finish up and get him out of here.
But he lingered, his own breathing becoming shallow as he worked, as his hands ran over hot, smooth skin.
Down Colt’s obliques because the neck depended on the back.
His shoulder blades, because those had to be sore too.
By the time he realized he was hard, he'd catalogued so many sounds from Colt that he knew were going to haunt his dreams. Knew, too, that he wasn't going to forget the way that body felt under his hands.
When he ran out of muscles to work, he slid his hand around to grip Colt’s jaw. His hand spread across Colt’s chin, thumb at Colt’s neck. “Gonna check range of motion.”
“Uh-huh,” Colt whispered.
He guided Colt's head through several movements. He'd done a thorough job. Colt was pliant, moving where Beau wanted him with barely a touch.
“Good. That's just right,” Beau rumbled as he gently pulled Colt’s head until he was looking slightly up instead of the way he'd been partially hunched all morning. “Good boy.”
Colt whined, a soft, desperate sound, and Beau’s cock twitched against his thigh. Had he ever heard another man make a noise like that? Oh, he wanted to hear that again.
He could. He could have Colt right here, right now.
If he picked Colt up and pushed his face into the desk, Colt would like it.
He’d show Beau a hundred other noises, movements, responses, would babble under Beau's hands because he was always talking, and Beau might just be able to find a creative way to get him to stop.
Or to make him talk more. Beau liked when Colt talked, and he just knew he was going to like whatever filth spilled from those pretty lips.
Fucked up. This is so fucked up.
Beau gently let Colt’s face go. “Alright. All done. You ice tonight before we get to the track, y’hear?”
The chair scraped against the floor as Colt stood and grabbed the shirt from where he’d draped it over the desk. He held it bunched in front of his crotch, his face flushed, eyes dark as he looked anywhere but at Beau’s face. Beau made sure the chair back was covering his own whole lower half.
“Yeah.” Colt backed toward the door, breathing hard. “Ice. Got it. Thanks, Beau. Really. I—I should get back to work.”
Beau watched him go. The taste of ‘good boy’ was still on his tongue, the ghost of Colt’s pliant, warm body under his hands. The door clicked shut, and Beau looked down at his palms which still smelled like tiger balm and Colt’s skin.
He was so fucked.