Chapter Four

 

 

Jackson rubbed his hand down his aching thigh. While the air conditioning did, indeed, live up to its promise, Mitchell had neglected to let him know the elevator had gone out of order earlier in the day.

“Dishes done.” Mitchell entered the room still drying his hands on a dish towel. He threw it towards the counter but turned away when it slid to the floor. Someone was a bit of a slob. The apartment wasn’t a sty or anything, but skating paraphernalia intermingled haphazardly with music CDs on multiple surfaces.

“I’ve got strawberry frozen yogurt.”

Jackson had told him his favorite flavor during one of what had turned into nightly phone calls. A flush of warmth settled in his chest. Mitchell preferred chocolate. “Not yet, thanks. I’m stuffed from dinner. In all our conversations, you didn’t mention you’re a gourmet chef.”

“Lemon-thyme chicken is hardly gourmet.” Was that a blush on Mitchell’s face?

“It is to someone who lives on Seamless deliveries and pretzels.”

“After the Games, I took a break to, um, figure things out. I wasn’t sure if I’d continue skating, so I needed to eat right and stay in shape, and I had time on my hands, so…” Mitchell hunched his shoulders and seemed to cave in on himself.

It was the closest he’d come to letting Jackson in. With Mitchell busy attending a series of coaching seminars out of state and Jackson committed to several campus activities, they’d been unable to carve out time to do more than catch a few quick dinners in person. Their phone conversations had been far-reaching, however, and he’d learned a lot about Mitchell’s likes and dislikes. He loved to read and listened to audiobooks on the way to and from the rink. He had strong opinions on politics and social issues, most of which aligned with Jackson’s. He was an only child and confessed to being jealous that Jackson grew up with three brothers and sisters.

Jackson had avoided asking anything about Mitchell’s skating at first, assuming it would be a sore subject. But Mitchell hadn’t hesitated to share horror stories of missed flights and lost luggage before competitions. Jackson heard a glimpse of his former arrogance when he talked about his climb through the ranks to skate on an international level, making the Olympic team twice.

But he shut down when it came to anything beyond the superficial. He told Jackson he was no longer close to his parents but didn’t say why. And he never, ever, mentioned Barton Fisk.

The more Jackson got to know Mitchell, the more he craved his trust.

Just as Jackson decided to probe a bit, Mitchell straightened and put on a forced smile. “Did you pick a movie?”

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

“About your taste in movies?” Mitchell teased, but Jackson saw the plea in his eyes. “I told you, anything but horror.”

Jackson couldn’t get too butt-hurt at Mitchell’s refusal to open up. He hadn’t exactly been completely forthcoming himself. What was that about trust issues? He’d already resolved to tell him everything tonight, especially if the evening was going to end the way he wanted it to. After weeks of nothing more than phone sex, he was itching to feel Mitchell’s touch, but he deserved to know the risks before they got in any deeper. And maybe once he shared his story, Mitchell would do the same.

He absentmindedly dug his fingers back into the knot of nerves in his leg but pulled away when he caught Mitchell staring.

“I didn’t think anything of it.” Mitchell pawed his hand through his hair. “I usually take the stairs.” He was on at least his fifth apology. Jackson had lost count.

He pointed at Mitchell. “Elite athlete.” He pointed at himself. “College professor. Climbing six flights of stairs, I’d have been flagging even on two good legs. And it was worth it for that dinner, even if the chef is being an ass.”

He reached for Mitchell’s hand and pulled him onto the sofa. “Now stop it. You haven’t treated me with kid gloves before. Don’t start now.”

“So tell me again how you hurt your leg?” It had become a running joke, each story becoming more outlandish than the last. But tonight, he’d have to go back to the truth.

“I’ve told you, I was hit by a baseball, and it broke my leg in two places.”

Mitchell laughed. “I still think you’re pulling my leg.”

Now that Mitchell was laughing again, Jackson didn’t want to ruin the moment. Nope, not avoiding anything here at all.

“Fine. You’re right. I was on a mission for the government, securing a miscreant from another world. Highly secret, can’t talk about it.”

“Somehow that one seems more likely, Professor W.”

“Press play. I want to ogle superheroes in tight costumes.”

 

*  *  *

 

Jackson woke feeling disoriented. He was on the sofa, which wasn’t unusual, but the blanket covering him was gray instead of navy blue. The television appeared to have grown in size, and it was surrounded by art and trinkets from countries he’d never visited. He shifted under the covers to pull out his phone. Had he missed his call with Mitchell?

That’s right. He was at Mitchell’s place. Where he’d fallen asleep before the good part of the movie. The part where he and Mitchell were supposed to say screw the movie and wind up screwing each other, instead.

He sat up, shaking off the lingering lethargy. Mitchell sat at the raised kitchen counter, hunting and pecking away at his laptop. The soft glow of the screen lit up his face as he shook his head and pounded harder at the keyboard. Jackson coughed to clear his throat, and Mitchell looked up.

“Good nap?” He tapped one more key, then closed the screen.

“I’m so sorry. I think I missed the chill part of Netflix.”

“It was orgasmic. You should’ve been there.” Instead of joining him on the sofa, Mitchell pulled Jackson up to stand with him.

“Any chance of rewinding?” Jackson draped his arms over Mitchell’s shoulders. He let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal when Mitchell reached down to wrap Jackson’s legs around his waist and carried him into the bedroom.

“I’d be happy to give a hands-on demonstration.” Mitchell released Jackson’s legs and took a step back, allowing him to put on the brakes if this wasn’t what he wanted.

Jackson had no intention of calling a stop to anything. He wrapped his hand behind Mitchell’s head and pulled him close for a kiss. Mitchell’s green eyes darkened like an ocean storm. Combined with his sea breeze and mint scent, Jackson was carried away to their own private island.

Like the night at the club, Jackson’s blood heated at the first press of lips against his own. His heart pounded as he let Mitchell take control, losing himself in the feel of Mitchell’s tongue exploring his mouth. Mitchell ran his hands down Jackson’s sides, bringing his t-shirt back up with them. Suddenly they were both scrambling to undress. Shirts off, they pressed their chests together even as they both reached for their pants. In an instant, Mitchell shoved his shorts down and stood naked before him. His erection pressed into Jackson’s hip as he brought his hands to speed up the process of getting Jackson out of his jeans.

He stiffened as the cool air of the room hit his exposed leg, bringing a dose of reality. Before he could completely lose himself to Mitchell’s touch, he had some explaining to do. He deliberately stepped back so Mitchell could see all of him.

He was bemused as Mitchell’s gaze immediately went to his cock and gratified when Mitchell gasped in pleasure. Catching himself leering, Mitchell raised his eyes to Jackson’s face and then traced a path down his body with his eyes and a single fingertip. He left tingles in his wake, a shimmer he felt all the way down his nick, over the hair on his chest, his navel. Mitchell lingered again on his length, and it was Jackson’s turn to catch his breath as the tip of Mitchell’s tongue licked his lips in anticipation just as his fingernail caught the tip of Jackson’s cock.

Then Mitchell continued down his body. His eyes widened when he got his first look at the scars, and Jackson braced himself for disgust and rejection. He flinched as Mitchell traced the longest scar with the fingertip that had just been bringing him so much pleasure.

Mitchell’s hand under his chin brought Jackson’s head up, and he looked deeply into his eyes as he laid his palm over the healed wounds. “Who was pitching that baseball, Anthony Rizzo?”

Jackson gave a bark of laughter and held back unexpected tears. How very Mitchell, bringing warmth and humor to the situation. “I don’t think he’s a pitcher.”

“I don’t think I like baseball,” Mitchell snarked. “I must’ve heard the name on the news.” His hand continued to stroke, learning the contours of the misshapen muscles.

“Would you believe it was a sixty-year-old philosophy professor?”

“I was really hoping you were an international spy.”

“I’m afraid the spy agency turned me down after they found out I had cancer,” he said quietly.

Mitchell’s hand stilled. “Had or have?” he asked in a choked voice.

“Professor Cogden’s wild pitch broke my leg in two places. That’s not exactly normal, so they ran tests.” Jackson sat on the bed and pulled Mitchell down beside him. Entwining their fingers, he positioned their hands just above his knee. “They found a tumor, right about there.” Jackson released his grip, giving Mitchell the opportunity to pull away. His hand remained where Jackson left it. Still but warm.

“And now?”

Jackson entwined their fingers again, drawing strength from the touch. “They managed to remove the tumor, followed by radiation and chemo. I’m a year out from treatment and cancer-free, and I have a good long-term prognosis.” He felt Mitchell’s relieved breath against the side of his head.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t get another tumor,” he warned. “Or lung cancer. Or a host of other problems down the road.”

“Nobody can guarantee they won’t get sick in the future.” Mitchell leaned in to kiss him, but Jackson wasn’t done. He needed to get through this before they took things any further. If Mitchell rejected him after Jackson gave him his heart, his spirit would be as broken as his body. Who am I kidding, Mitchell already has it.

“The limp is permanent. They had to remove muscle, and there’s a lot of metal in there holding the bones together. For a while, they thought they might have to amputate. And chemo takes its toll on the body. You’ve seen how tired I get. Sometimes I’m short of breath.”

“Shit. And I made you climb all those stairs.”

“Shh.” Jackson gave him a brief kiss. “The breathing and exhaustion have been improving, but it’s going to take time. This spring was the first time I taught a full course load since I was injured.”

“So rock climbing is out. Got it.”

Jackson laughed. “That’s all you have to say?” He sobered. “You can walk away, you know.”

“No, I can’t.” Mitchell nuzzled his head alongside Jackson’s and whispered in his ear. “It’s my apartment. And neither one of us is going anywhere until tomorrow.”