Chapter Six

Brandon’s eyes blinked open to sunshine and he immediately turned his face into the pillow to block the light. He was confused at first; he didn’t have a window on the left side of his room, and the pillows didn’t smell right. He sat up, looked around and remembered. Jake’s house. In Jake’s old room, there were trophies on neat shelves on the walls, with tons of ribbons and certificates all nicely framed, obviously the work of a devoted mom. Brandon shifted on the bed. The sheets tangled around his legs and it took him a moment to extricate himself. He sat on the edge of the bed and wondered what time it was. Late, for him. He was usually up and moving before sunrise. Feeling the heat of the sun, he would bet it was late morning. He’d slept hard, and he felt a little disconnected.

A loud clatter came from downstairs, followed by a muttered curse and another series of clatters. Frowning a little, Brandon stood up and walked to the door, sticking his head out into the hall. There was some more noise of pans shifting, and he chanced a trip down the hall and the stairs to stop at the door to the kitchen.

Jake looked up from where he knelt on the floor, gathering up the spilled pot lids and baking pans. He winced at the other man and smiled a little. “Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to be quiet, and I opened the Cupboard of Doom by mistake.”

Brandon couldn’t help but smile a little. “I’ve got one of those, too.” His mother had loved to cook and bake, and the cabinets were full of pots and pans and cookie sheets that he never used. “Morning,” he added.

“Morning,” Jake returned with another sheepish smile. “Did you sleep well?” he asked politely, unable to think of anything else to say as he averted his eyes.

“Out like a light,” Brandon said, leaning against the door frame. “I was really wiped. Longer week than usual for me.” He couldn’t look away from Jake. Now, in the light of day, he seemed more approachable, but no less attractive. Attractive. Right . Brandon mentally whimpered. Jake’s hair, even short, was rumpled, and he didn’t have any tough guy image going on. Making him alluring, too. Brandon resisted the urge to sigh.

“I’ll bet,” Jake agreed as he finally got all the pieces stacked and stood up, bending back over to lift them up and place them on the counter. He rubbed his eyes and then stretched his hands over his head, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was just after 9 a.m. “You eat breakfast?” he asked Brandon as he looked over at the man. Something about this interaction felt so right somehow, and Jake found himself panicking a little as he thought about it. Why was he torturing himself like this?

“Usually something in the car. Granola bar, Hot Pocket, piece of fruit,” Brandon answered. “Me and cooking don’t get along, not that I have the time anyway.” Seeing Jake’s look to the clock, his eyes followed. It wasn’t as late as he thought. Still, he’d slept nearly seven hours. A new four-week record.

“Well ... that’s disgusting,” Jake responded with a small laugh. “How about bacon and eggs?” he offered.

Brandon laughed at the expression on Jake’s face. “Bacon and eggs is good,” he agreed. “I’m going to clean up a little,” he said. “Unless you need some help?

“Nah,” Jake responded with a wave of his hand as he turned to the fridge and fished out the breakfast foods. “Go ahead, this should be ready in a few minutes.”

Brandon nodded, though Jake wouldn’t see, and backed away, watching the other man until he was a bit down the hall and had to turn to avoid falling over. He chastised himself for his behavior and got to the bathroom. Done after a few minutes, he pulled the T-shirt back on and remembered he needed to wash his uniform. Once back in the kitchen he stopped where the pile of clothes sat on the counter. “Mind if I throw these in the washer?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s just around the corner there,” Jake answered as he poked at the eggs scrambling in the frying pan and nodded at a door just off the kitchen. “Would you ... would you mind grabbing mine, too? I sorta left it all in a pile at the end of my bed,” he said with a jerk of his head.

“No problem,” Brandon answered. He retrieved the clothes and started the laundry, using the supplies on the shelf above the washer. Then he stood there, thinking about how odd all this was. And how odd that it didn’t feel odd. He closed his eyes. When did he get so comfortable around Jake? It seemed sudden. He thought about how much time they’d been spending together, usually talking after last block in the health classroom, baseball practice, team meetings, games, coaches’ nights out. Brandon realized Jake had dangerously and silently become a part of his life. He opened his eyes and rolled them at the thoughts, knowing they would come to nothing. He’d had no indication whatsoever that Jake might be attracted to men. Just two little photographs upon which to pin his hopes.

Jake shook his head as he cooked, muttering to himself. He wouldn’t do this again. He’d let Brandon go home on his own. Or hell, drive him home. Something. Anything else. He growled softly as he stood there and jabbed at the eggs. And they had roughly two more hours left to deal with each other.

Finally sighing, Brandon peered out the window. It looked really nice outside. Maybe he’d borrow some shorts, go for a run after breakfast. As soon as he thought of the idea, he discarded it. He was sure Jake wouldn’t be running, not with that knee, certainly not the distance Brandon usually ran. And it would be rude to literally run out of the house. He stepped back into the kitchen, quietly moving to pull plates out of the cabinet.

Jake glanced over at him as Brandon came back into the kitchen. “Thanks for ... uh, last night,” he said haltingly as he waved his hand through the air nervously. “It helped.”

“I was happy to help,” Brandon answered. “I’m surprised it didn’t heal better if they scoped it.”

“Yeah, well, it might have if I hadn’t kept playing after,” Jake admitted as he scooped the eggs into a large bowl.

Brandon hitched himself onto a stool at the end of the center island. “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking?”

Jake shrugged as he dished out two helpings of scrambled eggs and a load of bacon that he had cooked in the microwave—it made it floppy, just like he liked it. “I had a scholarship,” he answered. “Full ride, football, wrestling, and baseball. When I started having trouble with my shoulder I bailed out of wrestling. Then it got worse, and the docs told me I had to pick one sport or the other. I would lose half the scholarship,” he explained in clipped tones. “I couldn’t afford to do that. My grades alone wouldn’t have kept me at Clemson. So they did the surgery and I kept playing. Finally my arm got too bad to pitch and my knee got too bad to keep playing football. And that was it,” he finished with a shrug. “I was just lucky to get through the four years.”

The rigidity had returned to Jake’s shoulders and neck, and he jerked his limbs. He was still in pain over it, after all these years. He destroyed his knee and shoulder to keep his scholarship. It was enough to make Brandon feel ill. “Nasty business,” he murmured, thinking of the scholastic measures he’d had to meet to keep his scholarships and fellowships. It was nothing compared to what Jake had gone through. It put Brandon’s struggles at Tech into sharp perspective.

“Well,” Jake responded as he jabbed at the eggs on his plate. “We can’t all be Major Leaguers or NFL quarterbacks,” he joked lightly.

“You’re a great coach, you know,” Brandon said seriously, offsetting the injected humor.

Jake looked up at the man, dark eyes serious for once and slightly melancholy. He smiled a bit and looked away. “Those who can’t do, teach,” he recited with a little nod.

The rest of Brandon’s good mood melted away. “Yeah, I guess,” he murmured, thinking back to eleven years ago. Unaware of the change in his expression, he hunched his shoulders and frowned.

“You look like you have a story, too,” Jake prodded as he could practically see the dark cloud forming over the other man’s head.

Brandon glanced up, jaw set. “My undergrad degree is in biology. My first Master’s was biology and human systems. The second’s anatomy and physiology. I was getting ready to go to med school,” he said. His voice was as flat as Jake’s had been, a big change from his normal buoyant self.

“What happened?” Jake asked with a frown as Brandon morphed into someone Jake had never seen before.

Sighing, Brandon shifted. “My parents died,” he said quietly.

Jake was silent for a moment, watching Brandon closely. He wanted to ask why Brandon had ended his schooling because of that, but he knew better. “I’m sorry,” he offered finally.

Brandon nodded. “I had to come home to handle things, and I ran into Tom Berry. He came to the visitation. He talked me into trying a year teaching, just to get my head on straight. I never went back to school.”

“But you enjoy it, right?” Jake asked softly.

“Oh yeah,” Brandon answered, brightening a little and meeting Jake’s eyes. “I found out that my rapport with patients translated really well into teaching students. I really do like it.” He tilted his head, wistful. “Just a missed opportunity, you know?”

“Just a different road,” Jake offered, something he had told himself many times before.

Brandon’s smile grew. “You say that like a man who knows.”

“Pfft,” Jake responded with a small smile. “I enjoy what I do. I just hurt while doing it,” he joked.

Chuckling, Brandon thought about the equipment he’d packed away in his closet. “I really can help with that, you know. If you’re not already seeing someone for regular ultrasound and therapy.”

“Therapy,” Jake huffed with a small smile. “I haven’t been seeing anyone, no,” he laughed softly with a shake of his head. “They frown on alcohol therapy.”

“Yeah, well, I understand where they’re coming from,” Brandon poked a little. Then he hesitantly added, “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, I could bring some stuff over. See if it makes a difference.” The urge to help was undeniable.

Jake hesitated a moment as he looked up. “Stuff?” he echoed dubiously.

Brandon snorted at the uncertain look on Jake’s face as he pushed away his empty plate. “Ultrasound machine, Biofreeze, heat wraps,” he said, brows raised like Jake should know what he was talking about.

“Ah,” Jake responded with distaste. “Ultrasound machine. With the clear gunk that freezes your balls off when they put it on you,” he clarified with a nod. “Great,” he laughed wryly.

Brandon’s answer was a sharp bark of laughter. “Funny guy. You want to try a pain-free Sunday afternoon or not?”

“Why, you bringing weed with your ultrasound machine?” Jake asked teasingly. He had little to no faith in the abilities of therapy to ease pain. He never had. That was probably why it had never worked for him.

The tone of Jake’s voice made Brandon think. “You don’t think it’ll work. It didn’t work in the past, did it?”

“Nope,” Jake answered with a smirk. “I’m what they call a ‘difficult’ patient.”

Brandon rolled his eyes obviously. “That’s not a news flash. Will you let me try?”

“If that’ll make you happy, darlin’,” Jake drawled without thinking.

“My heart’s set on it, babe,” Brandon retorted right back, inwardly amazed at how easy it was to talk to Jake. Brandon hadn’t spoken about his parents in years, but when Jake asked, it had just come out.

Jake chuckled and glanced up at Brandon with a smirk before going back to finishing his breakfast. A comfortable silence was beginning to settle but Jake didn’t want silence. He searched for something else to say, but came up empty.

Brandon fidgeted a little on the stool. He thought of several things he could be doing—grading papers, reading the doctoral guidelines—hmmm, hadn’t mentioned that to Jake—planning for next week, but none of those things would involve his host. Again, rude. “Do you have plans? I could take you back to your truck at the school and get out of your hair,” he offered hesitantly. He didn’t want to leave, even though he knew he should.

Jake took the last bite of his eggs and placed his fork down, his chest twisting a little at the proposal. It became more and more apparent as they spent more time together that Brandon didn’t enjoy it quite as much as Jake did. He shrugged as he chewed. “I mean, all I have to do is go over the stats from last night, decide on today’s starting lineup,” he answered finally. “I just have to be at the field about noon to get it ready, so I was going to do that as the boys warmed up. Actually I was just gonna sit and stare at the wall for a few hours this morning,” he admitted with a flush.

Screwing up his courage, Brandon asked, “So you don’t mind if I stick around? I thought if you had something going on I would go do some grading in my classroom, but frankly, I’m sick to death of seeing those four walls,” he muttered. “Not to mention, you’re a hell of a lot better company than James.”

“James?” Jake asked curiously, keeping his mind as blank as possible so as not to have to deal with the novel emotions assaulting him this morning.

Brandon smiled, amusement shining in his eyes. “The anatomy skeleton. The kids named him James after Boney James, the jazz musician.”

Jake stared at the man for a moment and then laughed softly. “I don’t even know who Boney James is, but okay,” he snickered as he leaned on his elbows and grinned. For some reason the fact that Brandon wanted to stick around, or didn’t mind doing so, anyway, put Jake in an incredibly good mood.

The science teacher just shook his head. “Did my backpack make it inside?” he asked, standing from the stool and gathering his dishes.

“Yeah, I dumped it at the door,” Jake answered sheepishly. “You said you’ve got grading to do?”

“When don’t I have grading to do?” Brandon asked drolly. “Not too bad, though. Only two blocks, no essays,” he said, rinsing off the plate in the sink. “If I get it out of the way I won’t have to deal with it tomorrow,” he added.

“Right,” Jake nodded seriously, privately wondering how godawful boring a biology essay had to be. “Because you have plans tomorrow,” he reminded with a smirk.

Brandon laughed. “Right. I have hot plans tomorrow that are not to be missed,” he teased. Inwardly, he knew he was in for trouble. Oh God, yes. The awkwardness between them seemed to have disappeared, leaving a comfortable camaraderie tinged with humor and warmth. And it was oh so seductive to think it could last.

Hot plans. God, did Jake wish. He was really going to have to plan a trip into the city soon, just to relieve some of the tension building inside him. Once again he found himself watching Brandon with nothing to say. And so he simply watched, uncaring of the silence now.

Seeing the teasing fall flat, Brandon’s smile faded. He left Jake sitting there, regretting the words now. Obviously Jake didn’t feel as at ease around him as he felt around Jake. He wondered if the allowance to stay was out of pity. Pity for the brainy teacher who had nothing better to do than grade papers on a Saturday morning. He jerked up the bag, intending to turn around and tell Jake he’d changed his mind, that he needed something back at the school.

Jake watched the light fade in Brandon’s eyes before he turned, and he frowned, chewing on his lower lip as he pondered the situation. His knee bounced nervously, and he stared at the floor, worrying, wondering too many things and imagining too many things to even categorize. He wouldn’t allow himself to hope that he was sensing what he thought he was sensing. No way was he going down that road.

Brandon walked back up the hall with a purpose, stopping in the doorway to look at Jake, and he froze. The look of indecision on the coach’s face arrested him, the obvious worry there surprised him. What on Earth? “Jake? You okay?” Brandon asked, completely forgetting about what he’d planned to say.

Jake jerked his head up in response and blinked at the man. The desire to just come out and ask was almost overwhelming. But Jake knew on a basic level that he didn’t have the balls to do it. “Yeah,” he answered belatedly. “Sorry, just floating,” he said with a smile and a slow flush.

The urge to go over and do something about that smile was painful. Brandon cleared his throat. “I’m going to sit in the living room, be comfortable.” And he fled, afraid of what he might do to get himself in trouble. Big trouble. He flopped on the couch and stared at the fireplace, but all he saw was brown eyes. “God. I’m so, so fucked,” he muttered.

Jake rolled his eyes to the ceiling and pressed his lips tightly together as he was left alone in the kitchen. “Get it together, sport,” he murmured to himself. He thought he heard Brandon speaking in the living room, but it wasn’t loud enough for him to be certain. He sat there for another moment and then stood abruptly. He might as well get the lineups together now. Then maybe he wouldn’t feel quite so stupid as Brandon sat in the other room being a real teacher.

Snapping out of it when he heard Jake scoot his stool around, Brandon huffed and pulled his pack open, yanking out portfolios of papers and digging in the zipper pocket for his glasses. He found a pen at the bottom of the bag and sat back against the arm of the couch as he slid the metal-rimmed glasses on. Work. Work work work. Work is good for distraction, he told himself. Work, he repeated, every time he heard Jake moving.

After looking through the third place Jake thought he might find his scorebook, he stepped into the living room and glared around at the surroundings, trying to think back to last night. “Well, fuck a duck,” he finally spat. “Is the scorebook in your bag, by any chance?”

Brandon’s chin snapped up as a strangled laugh escaped him. “Fuck a duck?” he asked as he bent to dig in his pack, successfully finding the book and holding it up.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard that one,” Jake growled as he thumped over and snatched the scorebook. He flopped down onto the couch beside Brandon and flipped through the book grouchily.

Brandon sniggered, relaxing unconsciously as the easy banter seemed to be back. “You’ve got an awfully inventive vocabulary,” he said. It was sort of a backhanded compliment.

“Shut up,” Jake grumbled good-naturedly as he sank further into the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. “My momma taught me how to cuss,” he drawled with a grin.

Brandon hooted, slumping against the arm of the sofa. “That’s one momma I’d like to meet,” he said with a snort. “Sure she didn’t do that just so she’d have a chance to go at that mouth with a bar of soap?”

“I learned to talk early,” Jake blurted defensively, smirking as he tried not to laugh.

“And often,” Brandon shot right back.

“Ooh,” Jake cried as he pressed a hand to his heart. “Truth hurts,” he laughed, eyes dancing.

Brandon licked the tip of his finger and hooked it in the air in front of him, making a fizzing sound. “Score one for the nerd.”

“Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then.” Jake snickered.

The other teacher’s jaw dropped, but he came back with a quick jab. “It’s easy when the ground’s littered with them.”

“Shake that tree enough, and you get hit in the head,” Jake practically giggled.

“So that’s what happened to you!” Brandon exclaimed with exaggerated, huge eyes.

“Hey!” Jake barked. “Momma fumbled a lot,” he huffed, barely keeping a straight face.

Brandon opened his mouth, but stopped and pressed his lips together. He rolled his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “Goddamn it,” he muttered, unable to think of a good comeback. Jake chortled with gleeful relish as he settled back into his scorebook. On the coffee table, his toes twitched and bounced to a tune only he could hear.

Picking up his pen, Brandon again shook his head as he started back on the grading. The banter shocked the hell out of him. It came so easily with Jake. Like they’d known each other for years . But now he was relaxed, he could focus on his paperwork, and he could deny how happy he felt because Jake was sitting right next to him.

It was a full thirty minutes later before Jake got his stats tallied and the lineup solidified for that day’s game. He tapped his pencil against the list of batting averages and fielding percentages that he’d figured up in his head, groaning loudly as he realized that it was almost time to start getting ready to head to the school. He tossed the scorebook to the coffee table and flopped sideways on the couch, jostling Brandon with his feet.

Shaken out of his concentration, Brandon pulled back as feet attached to long legs pushed onto his lap, nudging the papers. He lifted a brow and tipped his chin to look at Jake, glasses sliding down his nose. “Is this your way of telling me you want my attention?” he asked. Yep. Still feeling happy. Shit .

“No, but feel free to keep my feet warm,” Jake ordered haughtily as he waggled his fingers at Brandon and then tucked his hands under his head, long body stretched out comfortably.

Brandon now had ankles on his multiple-choice tests, and he looked at them, bemused. Without thinking, he dropped his pen and pressed a finger to a whitened scar and slid it along the tendon.

Jake’s leg jumped, and he shivered violently, but he didn’t pull his feet away. “Careful there,” he warned seriously. “It’s tender. Prod too deep and I kick.”

“Dare I even ask how many scars like this you have?” Brandon asked sadly. “Tender, still, after how much time?”

“Years. And it’s just the two long ones like that,” Jake answered with a tap to his shoulder. “My knee was arthroscopic.”

Brandon turned serious eyes on him. “Like that makes it better. ‘Yeah, I went under the knife, but they did it by camera instead of looking with their own eyes.’” He shuddered, obviously not liking the concept despite where he’d been headed in med school. “I’m sorry you still feel it after all this time,” he said, unconsciously caressing the scar with one hand.

Skin prickled all over Jake’s body as he watched Brandon’s hand move with dark eyes. That was a decidedly tender gesture. Christ, could he be right about Brandon? Was it really more than just in his head and wishful thinking? He swallowed heavily and watched the man wordlessly.

Seeming to realize what he was doing, Brandon sat back and pulled his hand away with reluctance, fingers brushing along the skin before leaving it entirely. He glanced to the other man and murmured a weak apology. His touch had been beyond that of a doctor or therapist and well into something more intimate.

Jake pushed up onto his elbows and licked his lips as he watched Brandon intently. His stomach was churning after that gentle caress, and he could see that Brandon was embarrassed by the touch. Perhaps thinking he’d overstepped his boundaries? What if Jake was right? What if Brandon was attracted to him? The likelihood was slim, but Jake had reached the point where he just couldn’t tolerate not finding out somehow.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jake blurted before his better senses could stop him.

Brandon glanced at him. “Of course,” he answered, pulling off his glasses and setting them on the pile of papers he’d just slid to the couch’s arm.

Now that Jake had embarked on this road, he didn’t quite know how to proceed, and he certainly didn’t know how to turn back. He sat up and tucked his feet under him, peering at Brandon intently as the man turned on the couch to face him. Jake wasn’t a wordy person, and though he was quick with the insults, having a serious conversation about what he wanted to ask just wasn’t in his makeup. Actions spoke louder than words to Jake. So instead of asking the question he’d intended to, he reached out quickly, tugged Brandon closer to him—and kissed him.

It was the last thing Brandon expected.

He froze for the first few seconds as his heart tried to tear out of his chest. Then the heat swamped him and he practically melted against Jake’s strong chest and firm lips, a soft moan in his throat.

The best way to tell if the answer to Jake’s unasked question was a resounding ‘no’ would have been a swing of some sort. He half-expected Brandon to push him away and hit him. What he didn’t expect was the responsive sound. It sent a fire through him he hadn’t quite foreseen, and he nipped at Brandon’s lower lip experimentally as he crawled closer. Brandon shivered and opened his lips slightly, softening and molding to Jake’s as his head spun. God, was this really happening?

Jake leaned closer and kissed him harder, finding himself enjoying it even more than he’d thought he would. He kept his hands carefully off Brandon’s body, that last mental barrier still yet to be broken down. Finally he pulled back and pushed himself off the couch, standing quickly and breathing hard. “Ha!” he shouted as he pointed down at Brandon. “I knew it,” he announced with relish.

Brandon’s eyes were wide and surprised, and he flinched when Jake practically yelled. “Knew what?” he asked, raising a hand to touch his lips.

“You’re gay, right?” Jake asked in a slightly amused voice. “Or bi, anyway. I knew it,” he repeated as he took a step forward and bent over Brandon again, bracing his hands on the back of the couch and trapping the man below him. “Aren’t you,” he said softly as a smile pulled at his lips.

As Jake leaned close, Brandon first considered panic. Second, denial. Third, he thought flying off the fucking handle might fit well here. Instead he just nodded, studying the other man’s face for warning signs. Jake had kissed him. Surely it wasn’t a damn joke.

A happy flush spread through Jake’s body as Brandon nodded slowly. “Can I kiss you again?” he asked impulsively as he hovered. If possible, Brandon’s eyes got bigger. Unable to form words, he nodded again. Jake brushed his lips over Brandon’s as soon as the tentative permission was given. He growled softly and finally let his hands move until they were resting on Brandon’s shoulders, holding him down.

Clearing his throat, Brandon tilted his head up. “Why?” he asked softly before his mouth was taken again.

“Why what?” Jake asked a little breathlessly against Brandon’s lips, telling himself that if he didn’t get calm very fast the cup he never wore to games would have to make an appearance this afternoon just to preserve the innocence of the children.

The moan escaped before Brandon could stop it. “Why this? How did you know?” Brandon’s voice was deepening to a rasp and his hands clenched on the couch cushions.

“Hope,” Jake answered immediately. “Sheer hope,” he murmured as he kissed Brandon again gently.

Jesus. Brandon leaned slightly into the kiss and raised his hands to touch Jake’s chest and shoulder lightly. “Christ,” he whispered. If he thought his head was spinning before ... he had no concept. “Jake,” he breathed. The other man hummed in response and slid one hand behind Brandon, pulling at him gently. He wallowed in the contact, kissing him languidly over and over. Already aching, Brandon leaned into Jake when he was pulled toward him. He didn’t mind at all letting the other man take the lead. There was certainly no denying the attraction any more, and the slow, warm kisses soaked through him until he whimpered from the pleasure of it.

Only when Jake’s thigh muscles began to complain about the odd position he had put himself in did he pull back reluctantly. He licked his lips as he met Brandon’s eyes, which had turned stormy dark green. The coach’s heart was pounding; his breath was coming in little panting gusts. It occurred to him that he needed to say something. Anything. “God,” he whispered finally.

Brandon blinked and bit his bottom lip against a nervous laugh. “Not last time I checked,” he tried, gripping his own thigh when he noticed his hand was shaking.

Jake reached down and grabbed the clutching hand, threading his fingers through Brandon’s and bending again to brush his lips against Brandon’s. “Wow, I wish I’d had the nerve to do this last night,” he laughed softly, not pulling back yet for fear of looking into Brandon’s eyes again. Remaining this close to him offered a bit of anonymity or something.

The soft words made Brandon’s insides clench, and the sentiment spurred him to clasp Jake’s face between both hands and kiss him with a hint of desperation, a tinge of hopefulness, and more than a little agreement. When he pulled back, he murmured, “Would have been more than kisses.”

For the first time since walking in on Brandon stretching in the locker room weeks ago, lust hit Jake like a physical force. He practically whimpered against Brandon’s mouth, his big hands sliding along Brandon’s body and taking liberties he wouldn’t have dreamed of an hour ago. “Christ, if you knew how little self-control I have you wouldn’t say things like that,” he growled.

Brandon arched up into Jake’s touch, the wanton actions moving him without conscious thought. “Hell, Jake, you blew my self-control all to hell with the first kiss,” he admitted hoarsely. “I never expected...” He touched Jake’s lips in wonder. “Tell me this isn’t just a momentary lapse of judgment.”

“It is an extremely big lapse in judgment,” Jake murmured regretfully. “I’m afraid as soon as we move it’ll go away,” he added with a nudge of his nose against Brandon’s cheek and another gentle kiss.

Exhaling with a shuddering sigh, Brandon’s fingers tightened around Jake’s, his other hand clutching at one bicep. “No. Please, don’t, not yet,” he whispered against Jake’s lips. It had been so long since he’d been touched at all, and the fact that it was Jake was almost too much to believe.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jake growled as his fingers dug into Brandon’s hips and gave him a little yank sideways. He scooted and tugged and pulled until he had Brandon under him, lying flat on the couch. Logically he knew that they only had a little less than an hour and that wasn’t nearly enough time to do what he wanted to do to Brandon. He could see already that they were both going to head to school for the game frustrated and probably very cranky.

Wiggling and scooting to help, Brandon moaned happily when Jake’s weight settled on him, and he curled his arms around his neck, pressing his lips to the strong chin and sliding to his ear. “You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered. He pulled one knee up to slide Jake’s body more firmly between his thighs.

“Short drive,” Jake managed to groan as Brandon moved under him. “Stop moving,” he growled, panting against the other man’s neck while his body throbbed.

Brandon actually whined. “You’ve got to be joking!” he said as he dragged his hands down Jake’s back, tracing the shifting muscles.

“I’m not that funny,” Jake growled, nipping at Brandon’s neck and sliding his hands under the man’s shoulders.

Tilting his head back, Brandon choked off a soft groan as he felt Jake’s teeth. “Fuuuck...” he hissed, lifting the propped up leg and curling it around Jake’s upper thighs. He just couldn’t resist. Too many nights of heated dreams, too many mornings of cold showers.

Yet again Jake found himself surprised by Brandon’s actions. He wasn’t nearly as inhibited as Jake had imagined he would be, and for a moment it threw him off almost to the point that he forgot what he was doing. He scraped his teeth along Brandon’s collarbone and then pushed up onto his elbows and looked down at the man. “I, fuck, we should get moving,” he breathed.

“You just told me not to move,” Brandon said in exasperation, opening his eyes to see melted dark chocolate ones staring down at him with heated intensity.

“I meant stop wiggling,” Jake growled, his voice low and rumbling and intimate. “We don’t have time for you to wiggle,” he added with a predatory grin.

Brandon’s eyes flashed and slowly a wicked smile took his face, and he deliberately wiggled. Jake pressed him down hard into the couch cushions and groaned as his body responded to the provocative movements. “You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he warned seriously.

That heated smile faded into a visage of longing. “Probably not,” Brandon agreed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

“Tonight then,” Jake purred as he brought one hand up to run it tentatively through Brandon’s hair, brushing strands away from his face. “We can pick up right here. We just need to get through three hours of ballgame first.” He practically whined before giving in and pressing his lips to Brandon’s once more.

“Tonight,” Brandon sighed into the kiss, aching and hoping it wouldn’t all disappear like a popped soap bubble.

Jake pushed up and off him suddenly and stood, knowing if he lingered he would drive them both crazy. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and looked down at Brandon for a moment of indecision before nodding and turning abruptly to clomp down the hall. Sucking in a deep breath, Brandon covered his face with both hands, groaning and squirming. He was almost afraid to look down—although if he’d busted out of the boxers he was sure Jake would have had something to say (or do) about it. By force of will he kept his hands off himself and climbed off the couch, heading to the kitchen to get their uniforms out of the wash.