Here Comes the Boom
The rest of the day was a fucking write-off.
I moved through the motions. I handed Smitty the wrong alternator. I dropped a socket set, the clatter echoing like a gunshot in the silent shop. After my loud “FUCK!” no one spoke. Troy tried to catch my eye once, his face pale and anxious, but I turned away. I couldn't look at him. Not since I saw his face in the bathroom. If I looked at him, I’d either break something or break down.
That man. That coach. I knew it was him even before I heard Troy say “Coach Davis”, when I saw him in his clean polo shirt and his smug, knowing smile. He’d looked at my shop, at my life, and he’d seen a "pit stop."
I wanted to punch his handsome face in even before his judgment of my world. At what I knew he was: a fuckin’ slime ball, preying on MY Troy.
I saw the way Troy’s face changed when he said, "Offensive Coordinator." I saw the familiar tug of the former athlete, the quarterback he truly was, wake up behind his eyes. I saw that bastard’s hand on his arm, possessive, like he had a claim. And Troy didn’t shove him away. He just stood there. And then when he disappeared into the bathroom and I saw the look on his face, I already knew what decision he was going to make. I was already expecting it and all of this just confirmed it.
That pricks voice had carried into my ears, coursing through my veins. A fresh start for us. A great cover. I heard his words, even though he tried to be quiet. That’s what that man was offering. A bigger, shinier closet to hide in. A life that looked “right” on the surface. Everything we were trying to do, but deep down I knew I could never give him. A month of this secret and I was already tired of hiding. I was tired of pretending. With Troy I felt like I could finally be ME. I wanted to tell Troy that I was ready, but I guess now it was too late.
Maybe Troy felt safer in that closet after all and I was just kidding myself.
I announced I was leaving early, snapping at Big Ray to close up for me, muttering something about picking up my mom for a doctor’s appointment. I didn't wait for Troy. I didn’t even look at him. I couldn’t. I just got in my truck and left him there. He knew there was no appointment. But no one argued. No one said anything. I just left, and drove home, my knuckles white on the wheel again but this time for a different reason, the old, familiar frustration of feeling alone. Rejected. It’s what I deserved.
The house was empty when I got there, obviously. But it had never felt emptier.
I paced. I made coffee and didn't drink it. I sat on the couch and stood right back up. Every creak of the house, every car that passed, made my heart lurch. Would he come? Or was this just the confirmation I expected, that he had already made his choice, and I was right? Maybe he left too, and driven straight to that coach, that gym-built coach, that prick of a man who had taken him when he was 17. Seventeen! A kid just starting out, impressionable, scared. I wanted to KILL him just from what I knew he did to Troy, even if Troy didn’t see it. And now, he was trying to suck him back into that "real" life which was all another groom. How could Troy possibly want that back?
Or did he want it back? Were we really working towards being ourselves at last, and coming out together? Or was he too scared after all?
I was a fool. A month. A single month of happiness, and I’d let myself believe it could be mine. I’d let down my guard, and the world had immediately kicked the door in.
My fists clenched. My jaw tightened. I wanted to punch a wall, or cry, or something in between.
The sun started to go down and I had the final revelation that he wasn’t coming. I flopped down on the couch, in the same spot I’d made him quiver over the back of it. I ran my hand along that spot, wishing he was here, wishing I had said something sooner.
The room got darker. I didn't turn on the lights. I didn’t move. I just sat in the gloom, each passing minute the confirmation I knew was coming that was slowly turning my deepest fears turn to reality. I had tried to cling to the hope that Troy would come, that this was real. That WE were real. More real than he ever was with that Coach. I thought I had convinced him. I should’ve tried harder. My jaw became sore from clenching as the smell of undrunk coffee filled the house.
Then, I heard it.
At first, I thought I was imagining it, like I was willing the sound to appear. But there it was, louder. The soft rumble of his truck pulling into the driveway. I knew that sound by now, his truck, when I couldn’t seem to wait for that ten-minute lapse. I ached for it.
And now he was here. He did come.
The engine cut. A car door opened and closed.
My breath hitched but I didn't move.
I heard his footsteps on the porch, hesitant. The key turned in the lock—I’d given him a key last week, a stupid, hopeful gesture to convince him this was real without telling him in any words—and the door opened.
I could see the door from where I was sitting on the couch. He stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the porch light. He didn't come in.
"Ivan?" his voice was quiet, tentative, reaching through the dark. “I know you’re here. Your truck’s in the driveway.”
I didn't answer. I didn’t move. He couldn’t see me yet. I wanted to believe this was real too. I just looked at him from the shadows of the couch.
He stepped more inside and closed the door, plunging us back into near-darkness. I could still see the outline of him, the tension in his shoulders. He took a few more steps in, into the kitchen when I saw him look towards me, and stopped still, finally seeing me sitting on the couch in the dark.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the quiet. "I should have shoved him out the door the second he walked in."
Still, I said nothing. The fear and the hurt were a solid block in my throat that I had grown accustomed to. I was on the edge. I was afraid if I spoke or even moved, I would literally crumble before his eyes. And that wasn’t the man I wanted him to see. Not right now.
He took a few steps closer, until he was standing in the middle of the living room, facing me as I sat like a fucking lump on the couch.
"I don’t know what happened to me back there, but I couldn’t speak. I was shaking like a fucking baby.” He said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets and hanging his head down. “I wanted to pull you into that bathroom when you poked your head in and just…feel your arms around me.”
He shook a bit, taking in a deep breath, his voice catching as he tried not to let it show.
I knew he was almost crying. Because I was too, sitting there in front of him in the dark, now the one who was unable to speak.
He let out a big puff of air and lifted his chin up and stared at the ceiling before he spoke again. “He's nothing, Ivan. He's my past. A bad habit that I QUIT. I don’t want him, or his fancy offer. I want…this. This…" He gestured between us, his voice gaining strength. "All the things he promised, all the things I thought I wanted a long time ago, I’ve already got it here with you. The lazy mornings in bed. The working side by side. The laughter. The hot sex. Knowing what I’m thinking with just one fucking look. It’s this…This is what I want in my life. At least, if you want this too."
The raw sincerity in his voice cracked my anger. But the image of that coach was burned on the back of my eyelids.
"He offered you everything you wanted," I finally said, my voice rough and alien to my own ears. "Football. The glory. A return to what you were. A life that makes sense to both of you. A cover." I spat the last word out.
He moved like lightning, like the quarterback he was, kneeling on the floor so he could look up into my face and put both his hands on my knees.
"It’s what I thought I wanted! BEFORE YOU! But I don’t want FOOTBALL or glory!” The intensity of his voice shocked me. He gripped my legs, almost pleading. “He offered me another closet Ivan. Another fucking secret, shameful life!" Troy’s eyes were glistening in the dim light. "I don't want a cover! I want this! I want this house. I want cars and the shop. I want you!" His voice cracked and I almost did too.
He reached up and cupped my face. His hand was warm. Real. Pleading.
"I’m not calling him back. I’m choosing you, Ivan. If you stayed long enough in the garage I would have told you right there, when I could speak, you stupid goof!” I grabbed his wrists to make sure he was real. But he didn’t stop. He just leaned his forehead up to mine and pressed it against me, staring into my eyes. “But I got so scared you didn’t want me after all when you stormed off. I sat in my truck, thinking Coach Davis had blown up my life all over again. I thought I lost you. Because of him. And I wasn’t going to let him destroy me again. So, I drove here. To tell you. I choose you! I want you! I want “us” and I hope to God you do too."
The last of my defenses crumbled. I let out a shuddering breath, my own hands coming up to grab his face, and for the first time since my father died, I cried like a fucking baby. With my forehead still glued to his, I closed my eyes, letting my crocodile tears spill down my face, and let him see me. Completely.
He let me. Crying right along with me. Us two big dumb former athletes, broken, hurt, hiding. Letting it all out.
"Okay," I breathed out finally, as we gripped each other, me leaning over him, Troy still on his knees between my legs. “Yes. I want this too.”
He stayed there, kneeling on the floor, holding me until the last of the tremors left my body. He didn't try to kiss me. He just held me. And in that quiet, dark room, I started to believe him. I could feel the crack in my defenses finally give way. I felt the armour shifting off me. I felt myself feel safe with him.
It was me that started it, the way he was looking at me, all puppy dog and apologetic. My hands on his face, trying to console him as his hands were on mine, doing the same. Our eyes locked, our foreheads met again, and our noses rubbed together until our lips did what they always did now.
They found each other.
The kiss was lustful, messy with spit and tears, but so passionate as well. I never thought I could feel this intense by kissing another man. But there was more than just hunger. There was a need.
Troy’s hands moved quickly, to my pants, undoing them and spreading open the fly, pulling out my pole that was already as hard as a rock, twisting it and freeing it, adding a gob of spit over it as he climbed on me like he did just the other night.
“I only want you.” He whispered out as he stood over me.
I moaned out as he fumbled with his own pants, standing up briefly to shove them down and step out of them, before he resumed his position around my waist, straddling me, guiding me into him as if he couldn’t wait any longer.
I simply nodded, watching his face, letting him control it. He was so fucking beautiful my breath caught as I felt his body embrace me, pull me in, wrap itself around me as he wrapped himself around my body.
“I only want you too.” I whispered back at him, kissing him before his lips slipped sideways and he nuzzled into my neck. My hands went to his hard round ass as I shivered, breathing out hard as he found the spot on my neck that sent me spinning. All I could do was gasp, and hold him so I wouldn’t lose control, pushing him further down my shaft until I was completely buried in him.
And I was buried. Gone. Lost. In his scent. In his body. In his sounds.
In him.
He was so tight I thought I would explode right away. I grabbed him, steadying myself, trying to control my emotions. But he felt so good, so right, so warm that all I could do was close my eyes and kiss him.
He kissed me nonstop, holding my face, my neck as he bounced hard up and down on me. He was every bit the athlete now, using me to show me how much he wanted me. I let him, occasionally showing him just how strong and powerful I could be too by giving him a couple of upward thrusts to show him I was still here, still engaged, still wanting him just as badly. My eyes were open now, watching him, memorizing him, showing him that I was looking at him so intensely. And he looked right back at me.
Then he leaned back, just like he did on me in the truck the other day at lunch, and I ripped my shirt off my body so I could watch him explode on my chest again.
“Do it!” I yelled louder than I anticipated and it was like my words sent him over the edge.
With one hand holding the back of my neck and the other wrapped around his big cock he shot ropes of cum in three successive lines straight up my torso. I clenched my jaw hard and grabbed his hips and drilled his ass hard to cum.
He was bouncing up and down, his body like a rag doll, spent from his own explosion as he rode out mine. With a grunt and a long roar, I fucked my load right up into that beautiful ass, watching his eyes bug out, trying to remain on top of me like a cowboy at a rodeo. I was the bucking bronco. And he was every bit my man, riding me, holding on.
And as he looked down at me, with that sexy grin, I felt more emotion for him that I had ever felt before.
Because he chose me. And I was going to prove to him that I would always, ALWAYS choose him too. I would never hold anything back. I was going to tell him everything I was thinking and feeling from now on. In this single moment, as I remained inside him, with my arms wrapped around him and his hands on me, he took all my fears away.
This was it. I was ready.
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