11. Chapter 11

For the first time since I'd been home, I awoke refreshed. A few days after Arthur pulled me from my self-imposed hermitage, I felt like my head was really clear. My bed was clean, there was a fresh breeze blowing through the bedroom curtains, and I was ready to start the day.

Apparently, so was every part of my body. For the first time in over a week, I'd woken with morning wood that just wouldn't quit. The feeling of it rubbing, hard and insistent, at the fabric of my boxer-briefs and the weight of the bedspread above was a special kind of torture. I slid my hand down below the covers and took hold. That first day out with Arthur had been…something else. it was like after three years of us barely maintaining a professional facade, it was dropping ever so slightly. He let me hold his hand, let me hold him from behind. In the days since, we'd somewhat fallen back into our old routine as he tried to pull me out of my shell. But it was the vision of that day on the riverbank that leapt to the forefront of my mind.

If I'd only been brave enough to kiss his neck…

I pulled my foreskin back over my cockhead, already slicked up with dots of pre-cum.

He would have turned, put his hands around my neck and kissed me.

A slow stroke upward savoured the comfort of it all, just like the prolonged unfurling love story in my mind.

Arthur kissing me slow and deep, then pulling back with a mischievous smile. "We can't do this out here, can we? Take me home, big guy."

Arthur, below me on the bed. On all fours, just begging to be manhandled. Wanting me to have my way with him. We could be gentle later. "I want it rough," he said. "I want you to own—"

And then I felt that punch to my stomach, the one that took me down. Myself hitting the canvas and it all going back. It was like my cock deflated as I did, head burying itself back in the pillow. I'd lost my last fight. That wasn't the plan.

If I'd won, I'd have left that ring and kissed Arthur right in front of everyone. Fuck. I'd have kissed him and asked him to run away with me, away from the cameras and press and to that little hut in the Maldives like we'd talked about. And then we'd have made love under the moonlight. I was sure of it.

But I didn't win. We weren't in the Maldives. We were at my parents' house. I rubbed at the sleeve full of tattoos, the ones I'd told Arthur were boxing terms in every language. If he'd bothered to look them up, he might have questions. That's why I'd booked the last one myself—he'd likely recognise the term in Welsh.

Giving up on my morning "me time," I rolled out of bed and trudged into the bathroom.. I made sure to lock the door on Arthur's side before stepping into the shower. It barely washed away the guilt and self-loathing, but it was a start. I managed to brush my teeth and had wrapped a towel around myself when there was a knock on Arthur's side.

"I'm coming," I said, rinsing my mouth and opening the door. Arthur was dressed in long pyjama bottoms, tartan ones, but they rested low on his hips. Otherwise his chest was bare, the smattering of short hair I liked over his chest and stomach. He'd obviously trimmed recently, but it was very much there.

"You used to be a twink," I teased, reaching over to tap his chest with one finger.

Arthur blushed but glared up at me. "And you used to be a boxer. Now shoo, I need to pee. And you've been in the shower forever, I had to listen to that running water and it was torture."

I grinned and stood in place until he gave me a shove. "Surprisingly strong, you are," I said in my best butchered Yoda impression.

"Fuck off," he said with another shove. "If you think I'm surprisingly strong, we'll see later. I'm commandeering your parents' gym for today's activities."

I rolled my eyes playfully but retreated into my room and collapsed into bed, staring at the ceiling. Arthur closed the door but it opened a minute later, and he lied down next to me. I was suddenly hyperaware of how naked I was, which was ridiculous—he'd seen me undressed so many times, both in and out of the ring. The towel was longer and heavier than any pair of shorts I'd ever worn. But he was laying next to me, equally unclothed with his hair ruffled from sleep, and I wanted to reach over and get something started. If only my dick hadn't decided I was unworthy of it all.

"So, we're working out?" I asked after a second of silence. Silence had always been comfortable between us, but now it felt charged. Static. Damn those walls and how slowly they were crumbling.

Arthur rolled onto his side, so that he was even closer to me. He was practically under my armpit. I'd barely have to move to pull him in closer.

Fuck it. I relaxed my arm and let it fall behind him, just above his head. All he would have to do was lift his head and drop it onto my arm…and he did. There we were, two half naked men insisting on a professional relationship, and sharing a half-naked cuddle. Great. I took a subtle sniff of his sleep rumpled hair. I was in heaven. Or would be, if it weren't hell trying to figure out where our boundaries were. Or if my long-suffering brain—and cock—would work together and get horny. He smiled as he talked, and I realised far too late that him talking should have meant me listening.

"Bradley, you're not listening, are you?"

"Sorry, half asleep," I lied. "What were you saying?"

"Where did you zone out?" Arthur asked.

"…before you started," I admitted sheepishly. Arthur just huffed and sat up. I wanted to reach out and manhandle him back into his rightful place.

"I said, you'll need your tracksuit bottoms. We're using the gym today. Get those boxing gloves out again."

"I retired less than a week ago," I protested half-heartedly.

"Oh, you'll be holding the pads. I want you to teach me how to box," Arthur clarified.

"Why?"

"Do you want the truth, or the bullshit reasoning?" asked Arthur.

"Give me the bullshit first," I said.

Arthur laughed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. "I just really want to box, Bradley. Three years of watching you has inspired me."

"I could do with less of the sarcasm. What's the real reason?"

"Your brain has built a negative association with boxing after your last match. I want to get it working, post-concussion, and I also want you to build a positive experience with it again. It should help you get out of your slump."

"And that'll work?"

Arthur grimaced. "Well, according to the internet it should. We'll see." He got up from the bed and gave his hips a little wiggle. I kept my eyes firmly above the waist—for the most part. "Get dressed, big guy. We're going boxin'."

"Aye aye," I muttered as he walked back through the bathroom and into his bedroom. I swung my legs off the bed and rooted through the wardrobe to find my exercise gear, pulling out a pair of black briefs and tracksuit bottoms, and a grey tank top inscribed with one of my sponsors. I dried off my legs and dropped the towel to the floor. It was only as I turned around to get changed that I realised Arthur hadn't closed the bathroom door properly on his side.

I was a pervert, I knew that. But I couldn't help but look. He was facing away from me, but stood so that I could see him from head to toe. Slowly, like he was intent on torturing me, Arthur dropped his pyjama bottoms to the floor. I could feel my eyes practically bugging out of their sockets as I took in his pale, round arse and perfect legs. He bent down to pick up his boxers from the floor.

And then he turned around, and I got to see that beautiful body again, all slim limbs and smooth skin peppered by short hair all the way down to his…woah. So it was true what they said about short, skinny guys. Arthur was packing more than his frame implied—and I couldn't take my eyes off it.

Then Arthur cleared his throat. I looked up in time to see him swing the door shut. Shit. Despite us crossing a few lines over the weekend, I was still Arthur's employer. And not telling him was not cool.

I dressed quickly and in shame, doing my best to ignore that my dick was at half-mast. And if I'd seen him naked…then he'd seen me too. I opened my bedroom door and knocked on his.

"Can I help you, Peeping Tom?" he asked.

"…sorry," I said, scrubbing the back of my neck. "I shouldn't have looked."

Arthur gave me his sternest stare. "No, you shouldn't have," he said. And then he smiled. "But I guess if you saw something you like then it can't have been that bad."

I could only follow him, dumbfounded at his casual response. I did my best not to ogle him in his burgundy tracksuit bottoms that hugged in all the right places.

We walked out of the main house and to the gym complex out back. My generation of the family had a real reputation for being the best at whatever sport we put our minds to, and my father had played a huge part in that. Despite their rough upbringing, his brothers had been fantastic sportsmen. When he'd made enough money to support the family, my father had encouraged me and his nephews into whatever sports we wanted to.

We passed the indoor pool and squash courts, as well as the driving simulator he had installed for my cousin Theo—when it had become obvious he'd keep stealing cars from the garage to joyride otherwise.

We walked into the crowning glory of the sports complex: the full-service gym with central boxing ring. It had been great that my dad had seen fit to have it installed as soon as I showed an interest in boxing, but the whole place had felt more… sterile than anything else. As soon as I was earning enough from fights, I'd bought Imperial Gym because I loved how spit-and-sawdust it was. I preferred being in an atmosphere that brought boxing back to its roots, and that welcomed the local community.

"Have you heard from Jason this week?" I asked Arthur. "I've not thought about Imperial since we came home, and that's not like me. I should go check in on my fighters."

"He's holding down the fort and says that Diego is going to replace you at the peak of the pyramid within three fights," Arthur responded with a grin.

"You told him no one was going to be as good as me, right?"

"I told him to put a tenner on Diego to be champion within two years," he countered.

"…good call, actually. How'd you make that deduction?"

"I haven't spent this long around you without learning how to spot a good boxer. And that's one scrappy little Spaniard."

"Fine," I relented. "Text Jason and tell him to up Diego's training schedule. I'll sponsor whatever hours Diego has to drop from work."

"Why not text him yourself? And you're trusting my judgement?" Arthur asked. He didn't hesitate to grab the pads and boxing gloves from the supply cupboard.

Truth was, I wasn't ready to text Jason yet. I felt like I'd failed him. Years of training together with no losses, all gone in one split second. "You're my assistant, aren't you?"

"Not as long as you talk to me like that," Arthur grumbled, grabbing his phone nonetheless.

"I trust your judgement because of exactly what you just said. You've been observing for years. I might have taken my eye off the boil a bit in terms of how other people are doing in my gym because of my career. I was focused on me. And yet you somehow managed to keep me in line and keep an eye on everything else."

Arthur blushed. "Well, when you put it like that…" He deflected, climbing between the ropes and standing in the ring. He picked up the gloves where he'd dropped them on the canvas and fiddled with them for a bit before looking up and catching my eye.

I joined him. "All okay, little guy?"

Arthur gave a weak smile. "Yeah. This all seemed like a good idea until I realised you're going see how athletically challenged I am."

"Nonsense." I took the gloves from him and effortlessly slipped them over his hands and tightened the straps. "Everyone starts somewhere. I can't imagine how you could possibly be bad at this when you've been watching me for so long. You absorb information like a sponge."

"I won't be too weak?" Arthur asked.

"You're training your punches, not going for a knockout," I explained. "Anyway, I've seen super-lightweights with less muscle than you. You're really…" I tailed off, giving myself permission to openly admire his body. His arms, though skinny, filled out with muscle. I wanted to touch him. Instead, I leaned down to grab the pads and slipped them over my hands.

"Give me all you've got," I said. Arthur grinned and threw a punch that knocked my hand back farther than I'd imagined. And then he gave another, and another, until I was forced to take a defensive stance. "Good lad, go on. Give it all you've got."

Arthur's grin morphed into a determined snarl, but I couldn't help but smile as he assaulted the pads. Sweat beaded up and dripped down his neck, into his grey tank top. It wasn't until I was against the ropes that I realised I'd been so distracted by how gorgeous he was that I'd taken several steps back.

"Hey, hey…" I held up the pads in surrender. Arthur dropped his arms and stood there, panting. "Good job. You just need to straighten out your punches. You're expending a lot of extra energy on big swings when you could do a lot more with direct hits."

Arthur smiled and wiped his forehead with the back of one glove. "I did good?"

"You did perfect. Let's take a break." I ducked back under the ropes and headed over to the mini-fridge, glad to see it was still stocked with energy drinks and bottled water. I grabbed us each a Lucozade and walked back to Arthur. I handed him his, and started drinking mine until I realised he was staring at me, his expression inscrutable. "Is there something on my face?"

"You got me a drink," he said. "An energy drink. From the drinks fridge."

"That is usually where they're kept…" I quipped, not quite understanding his point but hoping it would come to me.

"That's my job," he said.

"Grabbing drinks? What do you mean? Have I…" It clicked. "Have I really not grabbed anything for you in the three years we've known each other?"

"Not that I can remember." Arthur gave me a weird half-smile. "But I could get used to it."

"Don't you dare," I growled, but I couldn't help my grin. He might be my assistant, but I knew that if I wanted things to move between us, I had to be more equitable.

"It's fine. You pay, I'll collect. Just don't check your bank account," Arthur said with a wink. He took a deep gulp of his drink and gave me a bashful grin.

"I…" I didn't know how I was planning on responding, but we were interrupted by a knock at the door. I turned to see my little cousin Cory stood in the entryway looking tired as hell, his hair sticking up in every direction. "What's up?" I asked.

"I am in deep shit," he confessed. "And I need your help."

"I'll leave you to it," Arthur said.

"You can stay." Arthur had heard most things in his time as my assistant. I tried not to keep secrets from him.

"Seriously. I'll leave you two to it. I'll go shower and see you later." Arthur squeezed my arm as he passed and it wasn't until he was out of the room that Cory stepped towards me. I realised just how bad he looked. He didn't just look tired, he looked ragged.

"Come on. Tell me what's up," I said. "Let's see how I can help."

"I think I've made the worst mistake of my life." Cory's voice was thick with emotion. "And I don't know how to fix it."