9. Cruz

The door flies open so fast it slams against the wall with a resounding crack, causing me to jump in my desk chair.

"Sorry," Liam mumbles, dropping his bag on the floor and disappearing into the bathroom, causing me to wonder if the last six days have been an illusion.

Up to this point, I thought things were more or less normal between us after I offered him a hand in the literal sense. Neither of us is ignoring what happened. Although, I think it's fair to say we might be going out of our way to acknowledge that it did, but it's no big deal. Like, I'll say how's it hanging today, and he'll say left of center.

It's ridiculous, but it seems to break the ice or whatever. And once we get that little elephant out of the way we basically act like we did before I put my hands on him. Though I sort of hate that we have to go through that little routine, it was working. Or so I thought.

Given the scowl he was wearing when he barged into the room, a look that had become increasingly rare in recent weeks, maybe it isn't.

I press my ear to the door, praying he doesn't fling it open without warning, but it's silent on the other side. No shower running. No toilet flushing. What is he doing?

I knew there was a risk of things getting weird when I gave him a hand, but in my defense, I really did think I could do it without changing our dynamic. Maybe that was na?ve… I shouldn't have assumed he'd be able to shrug it off the same way I can, although I'm not exactly shrugging it off, either.

Not completely.

I still think about it—a lot—and not because it was the first time I'd ever touched a man, but because it was the first time I wasn't trying to force myself to stay in the moment. For some reason, it wasn't an issue with Liam, and I"m not sure how to process that.

Truth be told, I kind of got wrapped up in the noises he made, which were just like the ones I'd heard coming from the shower when he touched himself. And the way he moved his body… Touching him didn't feel like a chore the way I expected it to. The way it did all the other times I'd been with someone.

Tiptoeing back to my chair, so he doesn't know I was trying to spy on him, I let my mind drift back to that day. Again.

Obviously, my experience is limited, but I've never once had someone react that way—totally uninhibited—when I touched them. I didn't know I was capable of having that effect on another person. And I damn sure didn't know I was capable of responding to it the way I did, with what might have been a twinge or a tiny spasm.

In my dick.

That has me all sorts of curious and confused. Usually, if I feel anything in that part of my body, it's more of an internal desire. A biological need I experience sporadically, and never in response to external stimulation. In the past, I've been able to force myself to react a bit if I really concentrate, yet with Liam I didn't have to force anything. I was just going through the motions and then, bam…I had my own little spasm when he came.

Still, I'm not sure you could attribute that little twinge to attraction or arousal since it hasn't happened again, just like I expected. Liam on the other hand seems to be hard all the time.

Is that why he's hiding right now? He's hard and doesn't want me to know it?

Seeing him that way isn't altogether new. I've caught the outline of his cock at least half a dozen times over the past few months—not to mention his regular showers—so I know the guy must really have an overactive sex drive or something. But now I catch him hard almost daily, and I swear it's bigger than it usually is. Or was, before…

Well, bottom line, even though we're mostly back to normal, I still don't even know why I did it. It's not like I'd been thinking about it or anything, and I don't dare think about what it means… I just saw that he was frustrated and knew I could help. Now, I'm wondering if that was a mistake, since I have the distinct feeling his cock wants to jump into my fist morning, noon, and night.

To Liam's credit, he's never asked for that, even though I can see that he's pent up. Does that make me an asshole for not offering? Is it expected that I do, or should I consider that first encounter a one-off? Damn, I really should've thought things through before I took action. Now, he's holed up in the bathroom, clearly upset, and I don't know if I'm the cause of that or the solution.

After wavering for what feels like another five minutes, I finally get up and knock on the door. "You okay in there, Sunshine?"

I'm not expecting the door to fling open right away, and I have to scramble out of his path as he storms out and flops on his bed.

"No, I'm not okay. This fucking arm is screwing up my life. I'm so pissed, and all I want to do is beat the shit out of something, which I can't do because of my damn arm."

His rant leaves me speechless for longer than it should—I'm used to seeing Liam mildly grouchy, not downright pissed—and it's kind of a shock. Plus, I need a second to collect my thoughts before offering another hand, like that, something I didn't do the first time. Ultimately, I conclude if I did it before there's probably no harm in doing it again, especially if he's asking for it.

"Hey, I meant it when I said I gotchu. You don't have to freak out about not being able to beat off with your bad arm. I can help."

Liam lifts his head off the mattress, and cocks it to one side, perplexed. "Why are you talking about beating off?"

"You just said you wanted to but couldn't." My brows pull together.

"I said I wanted to beat the shit out of something, not my dick."

"Oh." I feel my face heating in a way I'm not familiar with, since I don't usually embarrass the hell out of myself. Guess I read the room wrong. "This isn't about…that?"

His hazel eyes glint in a way that suggests he's amused, not upset. At least he seems less angry.

"This is about my fucking biology lab. I couldn't hold the pipette with my left hand, and I couldn't control the amount of solution with my right, so I totally screwed it up."

Wow. I could not have been more wrong about the beating thing. Clearly, that one encounter hasn't made me any better at interpreting sexual cues. Or the lack of them.

"That's hardly your fault." I sink into my desk chair and focus on the actual cause of his distress. "Won't the professor take your cast into consideration?"

Wisps of thin blond hair fall away from Liam's face as he lets his head hit the mattress. "Yeah. If I do it over, which I won't be able to for another five weeks, and even then, there's no guarantee I'll do any better since my arm will be weaker than normal."

"Can I do anything to help?" I ask.

"No." He sighs heavily and closes his eyes, and since it feels insensitive to get back to my own work like he isn't going through some shit, I just sit there and watch him breathe, noting how the aggressive rise and fall of his chest tapers to a more subtle movement with each ensuing breath. I'm half convinced he's fallen asleep until I see the front of his pants lift just slightly, and his soft voice pierces the silence. "Why'd you think I wanted you to beat me off?"

That strange warmth returns to my cheeks. "It worked the last time you were frustrated." My shoulders lift and lower to finish that sentence, even though he's not watching me to see it.

"Frustrated is kind of my normal." He huffs out a humorless laugh. "It's probably best if you learn to ignore the urge to help me out of that mood or else you're gonna be giving me a lot of hand jobs."

"You know that isn't an issue for me." At least, I don't think it is. That curious twinge aside, even now, talking openly about it, I don't feel anything other than a desire to make sure he's taken care of.

"You offer that so easily." Liam rolls his head to the side so he can look at me. "Is your hero complex that big, or do you legitimately have no issue jerking your friends off?"

"So far, you're the only friend I've jerked off, and the only person who's accused me of having a hero complex." This time he sees me shrug.

"That's not an answer."

"I don't have a better one," I tell him honestly.

"You should. You're basically telling me it's okay to use you, and even though your intensions are good, that's still fucked up."

My head bobs slowly as I consider his words. They aren't without merit, though I'm not convinced they apply.

"I hear what you're saying, I just don't get why it matters. I mean, it's basically the same as saying I'll do your laundry or carry your food tray. For me, anyway. It's a favor. Besides, you're not asking to use me, I'm offering."

"Favors are usually reciprocated. What do you get?" He arches a blond brow.

"I don't need anything."

"Stop playing hero and answer."

"I did. I don't need anything." My head starts to swivel back and forth, stopping abruptly when I catch Liam's eyes and see what can only be described as desperation. It's subtle, and I don't know why it's there, but I sense it means the next words out of his mouth will be important.

"Maybe I need you to need something," he says, an uncharacteristically vulnerable softness in his voice. "So I don't feel like a world class jackass for taking advantage of your asexuality."

That's not how I see our…whatever this is, but if he can't accept a favor without doing one in return, I'll go along with it. "Okay then, tell me something about you."

Those are the last words I expected to say aloud since getting to know him better feels like it would be betraying Xavier. Yet, I didn't hesitate at all when Liam asked what I wanted in return.

"Like what?" he asks cautiously.

There is something that's been bugging me for a while now. "You said you'd been to the hospital by yourself before with a broken arm. What happened?"

Liam flops on the bed again, but not before I see him flinch. "Why do you want to know?"

"You told me to ask for something in return."

"Yeah, like buying you lunch or something. Not twenty questions."

"I don't want lunch. Besides, if I'm following this conversation correctly, I'm about to put my hand on your dick again, which I don't mind doing if it helps you, but since you pointed out that's not usually something friends do for each other maybe we should get to know each other better or something."

Shit! That didn't come out right.

Liam traps his lips between his teeth before responding cautiously. "That sounds an awful lot like you're asking me to date you."

"No, I mean like…maybe I should know something about you besides the fact your default setting is frustrated and you've got a high sex drive."

That came out even worse. Fuck.

Liam snorts in reply and pins me with a droll look. "I'd rather not do this at all if your return favor is asking me to get even more personal than you holding my dick."

He's offended. Shit.

I had a feeling the story behind Liam's first broken arm was a sore spot, but I didn't realize how sore, or I would've let him tell me in his own time. It's just hard to look at him now without thinking of him being all alone then, and I hate thinking of him hurting without anyone there to help. But I can see how the question might've crossed a line.

"I'm sorry. That story about you being in the hospital alone has been bothering me, but you're right. It's not my business. It's that hero complex you like to accuse me of having. I'm protective of my friends, and I was worried. I'll try not to go overboard with that. And I'll pick a different favor, just not right now."

Liam's head dips slightly, but it takes another few minutes for him to speak. "It's maybe not a bad thing to have someone worry about me. And for the record I don't have a high sex drive. It's average for someone my age."

I chuckle awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess everyone has a high drive compared to me, so…"

"Fuck, I didn't mean that to be insulting."

"It wasn't. Did you still want me to…"

Liam wriggles on the bed like he's physically wrestling with how to respond, which is all the answer I need.

"Take your pants off. I'll help you."

Liam fumbles awkwardly with the button on his jeans, and watching him try to struggle free of the denim one-handed while lying on his back is so painful, I end up doing it myself. After dropping his pants on the floor, I sit on the edge of the bed and take him in my hand, allowing myself to really feel it instead of just working it for his pleasure.

"What?" Liam asks when I don't move.

"I was just thinking, I've never seen another guy's cock before. Not like this. And even though I held yours, I didn't look at it."

He sucks in a breath, blinking rapidly. "And?"

My shoulders lift slightly as I study the rigid length in my hand. It's somewhat lighter than the skin on his arms, though the tip has a faint pinkish tone where it pokes out of my fist. And since I'm holding him near the base, and I've got big hands, I'm assuming it's roughly as long as mine. A little thinner, but so is the rest of him compared to me.

"It's kind of pretty, I guess, as far as cocks go."

A funny little crease mars his forehead, like that surprises him. "Um, thanks? Could you, uh." He rocks his hips back and forth. "Gimme a little help?"

"I am." I flex my hand around his length, which makes him bite back a groan.

"A little more then? Move your hand."

"Move your dick," I retort without thinking, for no other reason than I'm too busy studying the way it fits in my fist to think about what I should be doing with it.

Liam huffs out a frustrated breath but doesn't protest, and starts rolling his hips in little circles while I hold tight, effectively pushing and pulling the skin of his shaft over the rigid muscle underneath as he slowly writhes against the mattress. I actually feel him sliding inside my fist despite the fact my hand is utterly still, which I obviously know can happen, but never really gave much thought to until now.

Gripping him tighter, I watch his thrusts speed up, the pressure seeming to spur him to move faster, pant harder. Relaxing my fingers has the opposite effect, though he punctuates the slower movement with a strained moan, the fingers of his cast-free right hand gripping the comforter tightly.

When the tip of his cock starts to glisten, I swipe my thumb over it, spreading the silky liquid all over his crown. Then I play with my grip some more, observing how the subtle changes alter his breathing, his rhythm, even how tightly he locks his jaw when I deny him the relief he wants.

I'm not sure how long I toy with him, which was never really my intent, but it ends up being pretty fascinating. Then, I realize he's not the only one who's inhaling erratically. While my breaths aren't as ragged and needy as his, they're by no means steady.

At first, I think I'm just mirroring his breathing, but then I realize there's a somewhat familiar energy inside me. The kind I get before I take the field for a game, a mix of adrenaline and excitement, only more subtle. Understated. Persistent and elusive at the same time. Yet rather than pulsing throughout my limbs, its' concentrated deep inside the base of my cock.

It's…intriguing.

I'm not sure whether to just enjoy it or try to chase it to see where it leads. One thing I do know, it's the second time I've had this sensation while holding Liam's cock in my hand, and I'm not sure what to make of that, other than maybe I am attracted to him. I mean, what else could it be?

We're in our dorm room, alone, with no game or match or competition in sight, and I feel somewhat riled up but only in the part of my body that doesn't tend to wake up on command. That's attraction, right?

Huh. I didn't see that coming.

Given that our first meeting didn't go well, for weeks afterward I considered myself lucky that we seemed to get along and had a shot at becoming friends. Anything beyond that was not on my radar—mostly because I suspected I was ACE—but also because I didn't expect to be into guys.

It never occurred to me to try looking at Liam as anything other than my roommate, odds were that's the only way I'd see him. Plus, his grumpy side was pretty close to the surface in the beginning, and that's one trait I've never found appealing. But as time went on and he started to loosen up—or at least relax—his ever-present scowl melted away. I'll admit, he's a good-looking guy.

Blond hair, just long enough to have some style to it, but not so long as to be shaggy. Hazel eyes with tiny little flecks of brown and gold if you look close enough. Lean, muscular build. It's fair to say most people would consider him hot, and I'd have to agree.

That in and of itself isn't a big deal since I've always been able to recognize when people are attractive. It's just noticing that and responding to it are two different things, and I rarely have a response. Yet, twice now, I've felt this little twinge around him.

I should probably keep that to myself.

Liam may like me well enough as a friend and roommate, but there are plenty of times I think he's just tolerating me, like when I try too hard to look out for him. I'm not sure he'd appreciate knowing my body seems to like it when I touch his. Not full-blown erection type of like, but more than I've ever felt with anyone else, which is a burden he might not want.

He's only looking to relieve some tension, something he apparently needs regularly, and he'd do it himself if he didn't have a broken arm. Once his cast is off, he won't need me to do this for him, so it's best if I don't let on how little I mind when he wants my help.

"Close. Need more." Liam's head thrashes from side to side, drawing my attention back to his half-naked form, and the way the muscles in his abs coil and release as he thrusts into my fist.

Oh, wow.

As an athlete I appreciate the work that goes into sculpting your body, but up until this point that appreciation was for the discipline. Right now, it's something more. Something visceral. And I respond by taking over, using my hand to bring Liam the release he needs. And when it happens…

My breath catches as a shiver wracks through me, eyes riveted to the tip of Liam's cock, which is gushing milky white liquid. It spills over his crown, along my fingers, pooling at the coarse curls that frame his pulsing dick. And it gives me a profound sense of satisfaction to see it.

For several long minutes neither of us move. Liam attempts to catch his breath while I try to decipher whether the sensations I felt were legitimate arousal or intense curiosity. When he's soft enough that his tip is no longer poking from my hand I let him go and get a washcloth to clean us both up.

"Better?" I toss the cloth in the hamper and hand him his pants.

"Yeah, thanks." The lines that crossed his face earlier are virtually absent now, which isn't immediately apparent, since his head is angled away from mine as he pulls his pants on. Deliberately, I think.

Just as I start to question whether it was a mistake to help him again, I hear him whisper, "I got jumped."

"What?"

Liam leans against the wall next to his bed, clears his throat, and looks me in the eye. "That's how I broke my arm last year. I got jumped."

Coming from a small town, where crime is virtually unheard of, I don't know anyone who has been attacked. I know it happens–I've seen the news–I just don't know anyone it's happened to.

I sink onto my own bed, slowly, so the movement doesn't startle him. I have a feeling that would make him clam up, and I want him to keep talking. "That's terrible. Did they find who did it?"

Liam plays with the hem of his shirt. "I know who did it."

"You know him?"

"Them."

"Them? Plural? People you know jumped you? Why?" I sound like a toddler with all the questions, but it's hard to wrap my brain around what he's saying.

"They didn't appreciate learning they'd been sharing a locker room with a gay guy." Liam's voice is so detached it's like he's living someone else's memory. And I totally get it. Sometimes detachment is the only way to deal, at least in the beginning.

"Holy shit. Did you press charges?"

He gives a quick shake of his head. "That would've just made things worse."

"How would justice make things worse?"

"One of the guy's dads worked at the school. He'd turned a blind eye to what they did to me before, when it first came out I was gay, but he never outright targeted me. If his kid got a police record because of me… I just wanted to graduate and get out."

"Your parents wouldn't have stepped in?"

"It wouldn't have helped. That teacher was also the football coach, and he was basically worshiped for having such a great team. They won the state championship more often than not. No one would've taken my parents seriously if it meant jeopardizing their prize coach."

This story just keeps getting worse. I've heard of bad teachers, but turning a blind eye to violence because you have a winning football team? I'm a football player, and even I know that's bullshit. And to be trapped in that environment… No wonder Liam has walls that are sky high. He hasn't had anyone to trust. Maybe not even his parents, if he wouldn't even attempt to get their help.

"Your school sounds fucked up."

"Private schools usually are." He tries—and fails—to give me a weak smile.

"Well, jumping you must not have worked."

"What do you mean?" Liam's head tilts to the side, cautious yet curious.

I lean against the wall and cross my feet at the ankles, hoping if I look at ease, he'll feel that way. "If the goal was to get you to quit lacrosse it didn't work. You're here."

"It did work, actually. The school that recruited me dropped me after I broke my arm. They didn't want to take a chance on a guy with an injury when there were plenty of other healthy guys to take my place. I'm only playing now since there's a club team here."

"They cost you your scholarship? Bastards." My hands ball into fists at my side as a rare off-field bout of rage courses through me.

"It's fine. It's not like there's a huge opportunity to play professional lacrosse." This time Liam almost achieves the smile, like he's convinced himself he's moved past it.

"I still wanna kick their asses."

He watches me closely, testing me I think, so I hold his gaze without wavering. "I believe you," he finally says.

"I get it now," I tell him.

"Get what?" He blinks a half dozen times in rapid succession.

"Why you don't like football. And I know you pay attention at least a little bit since I talk about it all the time, which I appreciate, but I'll try not to do that."

"It's okay. I actually used to like it, I just sort of…protested it after that whole incident. You don't need to stop talking about it." The absence of a scowl makes me think he really means that.

"So," I exhale heavily, racking my brain for a way to lighten the mood. "Want tickets to the next game?"

Liam chuckles like that's slightly funny, although I didn't mean it to be. When I don't laugh, he sobers. "You're serious."

"Too soon?"

He scratches the back of his head like he's mulling that over, then lets his hand fall into his lap in a sort of ‘fuck it' gesture. "Maybe we can call that my favor. I'll come see a game."

I don't know if he's forgetting what I originally asked for, or if he's just pretending that he didn't give it to me after all. Either way, I let him have this out, since I need one myself.

What just happened… Not the physical part but the talking part… I think it makes us more than just casual friends. It's definitely one of the deepest conversations I've ever had, maybe even deeper than any talk I had with Xavier. I feel so, so guilty about that, but I also feel excited and relieved to have connected with someone. To have someone confide in me.

It's been a long time since that's happened. Once he started dating Piper, Xavier stopped coming to me. I think part of that was because he started talking to her, but I'm almost certain part of it was him thinking my asexuality would mean I couldn't understand, at least when it came to relationships. And maybe I wouldn't have been able to, but he didn't try, and eventually he didn't really share anything at all.

What Liam just did… I didn't realize how much I missed having someone trust me enough to share something so important. And it"s not something I take lightly. I also won't make a big deal out of it, since I'm pretty sure he'd hate that.

"Coming to my game is a great favor, Liam. I'll take it."