19. Ellis

CHAPTER 19

ELLIS

Elliot wraps an arm around my shoulder as we toss the last of my belongings into the back of the Jeep.

"This is going to be great, I promise," he says, squeezing me against the side of his body in a way that feels menacing.

"I swear to fucking God, if you noogie me, pick me up, or do any of that stupid kid shit to me even once, I'll smother you in your sleep. I already don't want to do this," I say seriously.

He lets me go and puts his hands up in surrender. "Whatever you say, little bro."

He snickers at my glare as he walks around to the driver's side and gets in. Even after he cranks the engine, I stand there for an extra minute, contemplating all the mistakes I've made that led me to where I am now.

Elliot is quite proud of the pull he has with his coach, and the sneaky call that was made to student services over the weekend. When I showed up for my appointment Monday morning, they already had the paperwork filed for me to transfer my residency to the athletic dorms. Since there was a vacancy in my brother's dorm, and the coach had put in a good word for me, it's now official. I'm stuck living with Elliot and Gabe. I tried asking if there were any other choices, but the lady looked at me like I was an idiot.

How is it that I thought I could separate myself from those two, and yet here I am, with Elliot saving my ass yet again—even if I specifically told him to mind his own business. And I'm far from being over Gabe now. No, my feelings for him are so much worse. I keep berating myself for being so stupid. Read the signs, Ellis. Focus on all the red flags. But suddenly, red is my new favorite color and I'm finding myself making excuses for everything he's done.

The way he watches me doesn't help. I feel his gaze burning through my skin every time I walk through the apartment. Whenever I catch him watching me, he smiles sadly, continuing to apologize with his eyes. When he doesn't think I notice, I see the raw want in his eyes, and it makes everything so much worse.

I try to remember what a selfish, mindless idiot he is whenever I'm knuckle deep in my own ass, pushing lidocaine cream inside me to soothe the throb of the injury he gave me. I know he didn't mean to do it. I know he's wrecked about it, which is why I haven't let on about the actual injury. There's also a part of me that doesn't want this to be yet another reason we can't be together. Because I wasn't able to take him.

"Pizza tonight?" Elliot calls out after dropping the last of my things on my new bed—a full sized bed, rather than the twin I've been used to sleeping on. And Jimmy left his memory foam mattress topper behind. The bed and private bathroom alone are almost worth the heartache.

"Don't team workouts start soon?" I reply, because this is the second night this week that we've had pizza, and yesterday we ordered Chinese. I'm used to Gabe and Elliot being pretty strict with their diets, especially when th ey're only weeks away from the season starting.

"YOLO!"

After we have pizza, I'm bullied into watching TV with them. They're watching Ted Lasso, so I allow it, but it's uncomfortable as hell. The two of them are giants and take up nearly the whole couch, and I ended up having to be squeezed in between them. Gabe's thigh ended up being pressed against mine, so it was impossible to relax. Not only does my entire body ache from the strain of not allowing myself to melt into his touch, however accidental it was, but the position I was sitting in required me to sit directly on my ass for too long.

Does anyone actually carry around that stupid donut pillow, advertising their ass problems? I think not. I'm not going to be bringing that thing to class or sitting on it when I'm home with these two assholes. Which basically means I never use it, and just stand as much as possible. Which, considering I had two lecture classes in a row and have been sitting squashed between a giant and a mountain troll for the past hour and a half, wasn't as much as I'd like.

After I hear Elliot leave the bathroom and the door to his room clicks shut, I pull out my bag of supplies and head to take care of the pain in my ass. I've just gotten my meds out, swallowed my dose of antibiotics, and am about to drop my pants when the door pushes open.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Gabe says reflexively, but when he sees that it's me and I'm not sitting on the toilet or anything, he stops his automatic retreat through the door. He hovers for a moment, catching my eyes in the mirror while I prep my toothbrush, trying to cover up the fact that I was just about to drop my shorts and finger myself. Reminder to self, lock the fucking door .

Gabe looks like he wants to say something, opening and closing his mouth several times before I feel bad enough to throw him a bone. Whether I'm ever able to talk him into trying with me, we have to live with each other. The least I can do is help make things less awkward.

"You alright there, guppy?

He gives me a confused look, so I mime opening and closing my mouth like a fish. He chuckles and swipes a hand through his hair. Fuck, he's gorgeous. His dark blond hair flops to one side of his forehead, and my fingers ache to push it back. His strong jaw is relaxed with his soft laughter. He's at that perfect level of facial hair that I like, just far enough past stubble that it's softer but would still leave my skin raw and red from rubbing against it.

Gabe averts his gaze, possibly picking up on my line of thought, and his eyes catch on the bathroom counter. "What's that?"

I don't have to follow his line of sight to know that he's gesturing to the tube of prescription ointment the doctor gave me. There are a few bright orange disposable applicators that have fallen out of the bag I keep everything in. I don't like how the applicators feel, so after a couple days of healing, I've started using my finger, massaging the medicine around the inside of my rim the way the Nurse Practitioner had demonstrated on an anatomical model.

"It's nothing," I say, but he swipes it up before I can hide everything back in the bag. My face flames as he reads the instructions, mouthing the words anal wound before giving me an intense glare.

"It's not nothing, Ellis," he hisses, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. Closed in the small space with him, I can't help but remember our hookup in the bathroom. Willing my cock to stay down, I meet Gabe's glare with one of my own.

"It's none of your business. "

"Like fuck it isn't my business. I'm the one that—" he swallows and lowers his voice. "I'm the one that did this to you."

"You didn't mean to."

"But I did it."

"We were both inexperienced. It was an easy mistake."

"Don't patronize me."

I shut up then, looking at the wall instead of at him. "It's just a tiny fissure—like a paper cut. They said it'll heal in a couple of weeks."

He looks at the tube, and then down at me, and back at the tube again. "How do you…"

My face turns beet red. He's seen my asshole. He's had his tongue and fingers inside me more than once. Hell, his entire cock was in there. That's how we got into this mess. Yet him knowing that I have to massage my hole with ointment multiple times daily makes me want to crawl under a rock and die.

Gabe bites his lip, hiding some reaction or emotion that tries to pull at his expression. I swear to fuck, he better not be trying to laugh at me.

"Can I help?"

My brain cells rattle around for a few seconds. "What?"

"I hurt you. I want to make it better."

"But you said?—"

"This isn't about me," he says, looming over me and tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "It's not sexual." His breath fans over my face, still minty from his toothpaste. I want to laugh at how sincere he looks, because this feels ridiculous .

Now it's my turn to gape like a fish, not sure how to respond. I'm mortified and absolutely do not want him to apply cream to my ass, but I'm also deluded just enough to think that any excuse to get his hands on me might not be a bad one.

He doesn't wait for me to finalize my decision, washing his hands before turning me to face the sink. My cock fills the moment he puts his hands at my waist and man-handles me. I watch him in the mirror instead of myself, not wanting to see myself in all my flustered, sweaty, blotchy glory. His fingertips tease over the waistband of my sleep shorts before peeling them down over my ass. I shiver at the way his hands skim over my hip.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the shell of my ear, and then the nape of my hair, right before inhaling the skin there. He slowly lowers himself to his knees. "I'm sorry," he whispers again, this time against my hip, against both ass cheeks. I fall forward on my arms when he spreads me open, his warm breath caressing my cleft as he whispers his apologies there, too. His lips press against my puckered hole. "I'm so sorry," he says one last time, before kissing me again, gently lapping at my hole with his lips and tongue until I'm shaking.

He pulls away, replacing his mouth with the cool blunt end of his finger, rubbing the lidocaine cream around the outside of the rim. For a few moments, I think he's teasing me, flirting with my hole but not making a real attempt at breaching it. I glance toward the mirror and see the way his forehead is resting against the arm that is holding me spread open. He turns his head, meeting my eyes, and I can see the trepidation there. The sorrow. The horror that he hurt me. The fear that he could again.

"It's okay," I whisper, pushing back lightly against his hand. I hiss when the very tip of his thick finger pushes through the first ring of muscle, and he freezes, worried eyes darting back up to mine. "It's okay," I repeat. "It's… it feels nice. "

His finger is much thicker than mine, so there's quite a bit more stretch involved, but Gabe takes it slow. He alternates between watching his finger and checking in with me, only moving deeper when I nod and encourage him to. He adds a bit more of the medicine when he's got me opened up enough. There's a slight twinge of pain that dissipates into a dull burn, but the pleasure of him touching me far outweighs any discomfort. I let him go much deeper than the actual injury, forgetting for a moment that this is meant to be caring and clinical. When his finger brushes over my prostate, I can't contain the small cry of pleasure.

Heat engulfs me, my already flushed skin turning a deep red. The blush extends down my neck to my chest. I meet his eyes apologetically. "You should stop now if you don't want me to?—"

Gabe bites his lip thoughtfully, keeping his eyes locked on mine as he moves his finger inside me, caressing that same spot again. He presses his mouth to my hip when a deep moan escapes me, squeezing his eyes closed, almost as if he's trying to keep himself quiet, when I'm the one that made the noise. It's impossible not to, though. Not when he's putting pressure on my prostate the way he is, repeatedly stroking over it. I turn the water on in the sink and bury my face in my arm to drown out my uncontrollable moans as Gabe gently but thoroughly fucks me with his finger.

Neither one of us so much as touches my cock, but within a few short minutes, a full tremor racks through me. My cock erupts, painting the counter in ropes of white. Before the post orgasm awareness settles in, Gabe pulls my shorts back up and stands behind me, supporting my weight while I get my bearings.

He presses a gentle kiss to the side of my head. "I'll clean up," he says, effectively sending me on my way.

Every night for the next two weeks, he comes to me, soothing the ache of his mistake and bringing me to orgasm with just one finger. He never touches my cock, never kisses me on the mouth, and he never even acknowl edges the massive straining erection he leaves with every night. We don't talk about it at all. The naughty angel on my shoulder thinks about mentioning the other times of day I have to apply the medicine, but I'm afraid to push too much. His gentle, caring touches have me falling deeper than ever before, all my anger forgotten.