10. Easton

Chapter 10

Easton

Royal slipping into the bed woke Easton. He didn't suspect he'd been asleep long, but he felt notably better—not great, but at least functional. While a marathon wasn't in the running, he didn't feel like he'd be wheeled into the morgue either. His pain had dulled to tolerable, but the room had cooled significantly, and chill bumps prickled his skin. He squirmed beneath the sheets, pulling his knees toward his chest.

"You okay?" Royal asked.

" Oui ," he replied, shivering. "It's refrigerator mode in here."

"I know. I cut it off. You had it set to subzero."

"I didn't—" The protest died on his lips as his back began warming from the heat radiating off Royal's torso. Subconsciously, he shifted and scooted back as if being pulled by a magnet. What am I doing? He shuddered, then stilled at the bodily contact as Royal's arm settled on his and provided immediate rewarding warmth. And what is he doing?

"You are cold," Royal affirmed.

And you're naked! Easton's breath hitched. We both are! What the…? "Did you think I was making it up?" If you needed verification of my temperature status, you've gotten it. So, why is your arm still where it is? No, this isn't weird at all. And no, I'm not getting a boner. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not.

"That was an ugly ride you had tonight—too ugly."

"I made my eight seconds, though." Barely, but barely counted. How the fuck is he so calm about this?

"That's not the point. You could have been hurt… again."

Answer him. Don't think about his dick against you.

"We all get hurt. Nothing new about that."

"Naw, it's different. Something's up with you. Your mind was miles away before climbing on, and that bull sensed it. It flung you like snot from its nostril."

Oui, plenty is up… straight up. Damn, Royal!

"It was the arena. There's some bad juju in there."

"Don't hand me that crap." Royal shoved Easton's shoulder, forcing him onto his back. "And don't dare lie to me," he demanded, staring down at his best friend. "You've been acting weird for months. I deserve to know when something is bothering you. Quoi, ?a dit? "

Easton hesitated, his breath shaky. Quickly, he bunched the sheet as best he could over his crotch to conceal his state. Biting his lip, he weighed whether confessing would make matters worse. "You really want to know?"

"I do."

He parted his lips, but the words lodged in his throat. "I just don't feel myself, like there're things I need to figure out."

"Like what?"

Easton shook his head. "That's the problem. I don't know. Something's changing, but it's not."

"You're not making sense."

"I know that too." Easton's gaze dropped as he gave a pathetic sigh, then sucked in a long breath. An empty feeling of incompleteness coiled in his gut. "You know how there are things you just know about yourself? Like when someone asks you how do you take your coffee or what side of the bed you prefer? You don't have to think about it. Somewhere in life, you figured it out, and chances are, you never realized when this happened. Now imagine one day, for no reason all, those default choices evaporate. Suddenly, you're unsure."

Royal's face lit with understanding. "Ah, I think I know where this is coming from. After a bad injury, lots of guys reconsider, and getting a rank bull the first time back doesn't help."

"That's not it. Or maybe it is. H-E-double-hockey-sticks, I don't know, Royal. Je suis de'pouille. "

"Shh. You're no mess—or at least no worse than the rest of the universe. Try to get some sleep. I'm sure things will be clearer in the morning." Royal's tone softened to such a level that Easton almost didn't hear him mutter the next sentence despite Royal's mouth being close to his ear. "For both of us."

" Quoi? "

" Pas rien . Pay me no mind."

Yeah, that's not going to happen.

"I'm talking loopy too." Royal continued. "I guess I'm more tired than I thought."

Is that all it is? Although he wondered, he didn't dare ask. Instead, he lay motionless, drinking in the silence as he awaited the Sandman to return and desperately flipped through his mental Rolodex of any image that would nippily diminish the bit of a problem happening in his crotch.

Correction. It wasn't a bit of a problem . It was a whole-ass situation.

* * *

Royal

I'm only warming him up. He's cold. Body heat is effective. Perhaps if he repeated it enough times in his head, he would convince himself, and if he remained still, neither of them would feel his semi. Yeah. Uh-huh. Down, boy! Easton shifted and…. Salleau prie! Good gravy and butter! His insides buzzed as if he was on the lift hill of Kingda Ka and about to straight plunge into negative G-force without a seat belt. This was a bad damn idea . He needed to release his embrace. This… whatever it was… had gotten far out of control, and he had no one to blame—again—but himself. This is the second time you've had Easton in your arms tonight. Let go, he ordered himself, but his muscles refused to obey. And his cock…. Oh, heaven above!

Royal inhaled a few deep breaths to settle himself. He attempted to swallow, but his throat had gone bone dry. Did he not just have this absurd conversation with himself in the shower? Had his brain left his body? Had he contracted amnesia? Welcome to Clownville. He needed to take his own fucking advice and go to sleep.

Screwing his eyes shut, he forced his mind to focus on counting sheep. Mary had a little lamb, little lamb… .

Easton lightly elbowed him in the chest. "I'm not a baby."

" Quoi? " Royal opened his eyes.

"I don't need you humming me a lullaby."

"I wasn't—" He interrupted himself, realizing what he'd done. Oops. "I didn't mean…. It wasn't for you."

"You want to talk about me acting strange, but what about you? Your Mercury is out of retrograde."

"My Mercury is where it always is."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means we both need sleep. It's been a long night." He resisted maintaining eye contact any longer and rolled over, turning his back to his bed companion. There was no way he could continue meeting Easton's gaze and not have his hard-on flare up even more. He was struggling enough as it was. Come on, sheep. Do your thing. One, two, three… .

He felt Easton rise.

"Royal, about tonight. In the arena?—"

A shiver raced up Royal's spine. Uh-uh. Not going there. I will not discuss it in this bed. I won't discuss it outside of my head. Nope, I'm not gonna do it, Sam-I-Am-Not. There's not a single poached green egg or slice of honey-baked ham on this plate. This isn't going to be a repeat of Sioux Falls .

"What about Sioux Falls?" Easton asked.

"Huh?"

"You said Sioux Falls."

Shit! He'd done it again, spoken what he thought he'd only thought. He really must have been tired. Either that or he was developing a split personality. " Pas rien . I ate some oysters earlier. I don't think they're sitting right with me."

Easton chuckled. "In that case, be sure to keep the covers tucked tight around you. I don't want you fumigating this room. That's not how I wish to die in my sleep. I can only imagine the epitaph: ‘Gone too soon, smothered by flatulence.'"

Royal laughed in return. "Inhalation. Smothering suggests I shoved your head beneath the blanket and held it there."

"Well, isn't that just a lovely thought?" Easton relaxed on the mattress. "Forcibly gassed. That would make it premeditated instead of manslaughter." A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. "I wouldn't blame you, though. It would be the only way you beat me this year."

"You did hit your head tonight. Dors ."

"All right. Bonne nuit. "

One sheep. Two sheep. Three…