Chapter Seventeen

WE WATCHED a movie, and then I took Ambrose into my bedroom, undressed, and went hunting for a condom. He painfully removed his knee brace and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Come on.” I gestured to him. “Clothes off.”

He pulled off his jumper and shirt, and I sat and memorized the scene. Occasionally, just occasionally, I would remember that “Ambrose-my-old-friend” and “Ambrose-the-guy-I-loved” was also “Ambrose-the-semifamous-footballer.” He was at the peak of fitness, and he was sitting on the edge of my bed, preparing to fuck me happy.

“What?” He frowned at me. I realized I was standing by the dresser, starkers, just watching him.

“I’m simply having one of those moments,” I said blissfully as I threw the condom and lube on the bed next to him.

“What moments?”

“One of those ‘I can’t believe I have Bro-Jak in my bed’ moments. I’ve never told anyone about you, because who would believe me?”

“You mean no one would ever mistake me for liking guys?”

“No. I mean no one would ever believe that someone like you would want to be with someone like me.”

Sadness crossed his features. “You have to stop putting yourself down, Shane. Come here.” It was his turn to gesture to me, and I moved forward. He grasped my hips, positioned me in front of him, and leaned in to take me in his mouth. I gasped in shock and delight. Not a lot of men stopped to do this to me.

“Ambrose,” I groaned.

He sucked on me for a minute and then sat back to say “To me, every part of you is perfect. You turn me on—you. And believe me when I say that not many people do.” He licked my length and then brought both hands up to hold my erection so he could lick his way around the head.

But what he said echoed in my brain. “Not many people turn you on?” I questioned.

He pulled off to whisper, “I told you that. Remember? I told you I don’t get the wanting to jump someone’s bones when you’ve only just met them.”

“Oh.” I didn’t get what Ambrose didn’t get about that. How could you not get sexual attraction?

He smiled and then licked me again. “I find I only want to do this—” He sucked at the end of my dick and I tensed at the sharp sensation. “—when I’ve gotten to know and like someone.” Then he kissed the skin above my pubic hair and then placed another kiss farther up, toward my belly button. “And I really like you. I’ve always liked you, Shane. The attraction for you has always been there. The night you told me you were gay, I wanted to take you back to my room and ask you to show me all about it.”

I remembered that night. “I’d been crushing on you for about a year by that time,” I confessed softly. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“It was okay. I didn’t realize what it meant at the time. I didn’t know if I was gay or what. You were the only guy who turned me on. It confused me.” He kissed my stomach and ribs and other ticklish spots he could find. “I figured people were lying about how horny they were all the time and how much sex they were having. Besides, I just wanted to play footy.”

I brushed his forehead. Yes, that was the Ambrose I remembered. “But you went out with that basketball girl? What was her name?”

“You mean Jodie?”

“Yeah. That was her. I remember you getting all touchy-feely with her. Tracy even commented on how she had to have new rules in the house about girls in your room.”

His mouth had reached my nipples. He tongued them and then blew gently on them so they pebbled in the cold. I shivered and pulled away.

Using me for balance, he stood, and our chests brushed. I was distracted and ran my hands over his chest. Then I plunged my fingers into the elastic waistband of his trousers and pushed them off.

“Jodie was cool. She wasn’t pushy. We had a great time.”

I scooted my hands around to the back so I could cup Ambrose’s butt through the material of his underwear. His pants were down to his thighs, and I squeezed the globes of his arse and marveled at how hard they were.

“You had sex with Jodie, didn’t you?”

His hands were still on my shoulders for balance, and he moved one to cup my face. “This is really weird, talking about sex with other people just before we have sex.”

“I simply don’t understand. I don’t understand why you feel attracted to me. Maybe if I did, it would help me.”

He sighed and pulled back. That was not what I wanted.

“Yes. I had sex with Jodie. But we also played a lot of basketball. It wasn’t all about the sex. I can have sex with people. It’s not like I’m asexual or impotent. I just don’t like it to be the only thing that’s between us.”

He was getting upset, so I decided to drop the subject, which I seemed to have done around Ambrose a lot lately. I pushed his underwear down and gripped his erection. “No. I can see you’re not impotent at all.” I watched carefully and saw the stiff stance of his shoulders lessen a bit, as though he realized I wasn’t going to push the subject. I kissed his chest. “Although, I may need a little more proof on this impotency business. Do you think you could provide it?”

His white teeth stood out against the hue of his dusky skin, made darker by the shadows in the room, since I’d only turned on the two bedside lamps.

“I think I may need some help providing this proof,” he replied in a growly voice. It sent shivers down my spine. “I’m injured, so could do with some assistance.”

I was more than okay with providing that assistance, so I undressed him, stripped back the covers, and urged Ambrose to lie down on the sheets. Then I attacked him.

Okay. So not really. It just felt like it. I let my senses expand and the arousal wash over me. It was Ambrose, and he was there for me however I wanted, because I was in charge. I was a connoisseur, an Ambrosiac, an Ambrose-aholic.

I reached for him and ran my hands all over his body, all over his length—all over. Then I knelt on the bed beside him and let my mouth follow and taste all of that too. I sucked at his nipples, traced the lines of the snake tattoo with my fingers, licked along his ribs, inhaled deeply the scent at his hip bones, touched his pubic hair, cupped his balls, ran my tongue along the length of his cock, rubbed my cheek against his stomach, listened to the furious thump of his heart, tasted the skin under his chin, ran my thumb over the sensitive glans on his dick, and breathed wetly in his ear.

Ambrose squirmed on the bed and called my name. Occasionally he would move in some way that obviously hurt his knee. He would freeze, his breath would catch in a painful sob, and I would immediately stop what I was doing. But Ambrose would straighten his leg again and murmur, “Don’t stop.”

When I was within reach, he would touch me too. He explored my body with his hot hands and touched my legs, buttocks, stomach, chest, and arms—whatever he could reach. I sucked on his cock, enjoying the scent and taste as I tried to get as much as possible in my mouth. I could feel Ambrose’s broad hand on the inside of my thigh and tensed with anticipation as he ran his hand up and touched my balls. Without thinking too hard about it, I spread my legs, giving him access to the area. He rolled my testes around in their pouch, gently exploring and giving me a lot of pleasure, and then moved on to my erection.

For long minutes we stayed that way—me sucking and licking Ambrose while he touched and massaged me. Then he slid his fingers to encircle my hole, and I jumped. Those fingers, so deft with a football at the national level, were strong and nimble. He touched lightly, then not so lightly, and pushed in with a broad digit. I had to stop sucking his dick and gasp out “Ambrose!”

“What?” he asked as though he hadn’t done anything. Then he pushed in again.

I dropped my head and rested my forehead against his hairy thigh. “Jesusmarymotherandjoseph.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked innocently. “This?”

I shot up and away from him and spun around to glare. I pointed a finger accusingly in his direction. “I was enjoying what I was doing.”

He raised his hands in a surrender motion. “So was I. I was enjoying what you were doing to me. I was also enjoying what I was doing to you. Can we continue please?”

I grabbed the two hands he was holding up and pushed them above his head. It extended his body and opened his pits. It was so sexy and erotic that I just had to kiss him and hold down his elbows so he couldn’t distract me from the task. I slung a leg over his body and perched on his stomach. Ambrose wasn’t able to use his leg, so that was the only position I could think of to make penetration happen.

“I don’t think we can continue with the foreplay bit,” I panted. “I think we need to move this show along.”

He nodded, and I carefully ran my fingers down the insides of his arms, brushing the hair under his arms and continuing down.

It was then that I saw it.

It was tiny—a new tattoo on his side, over his ribs and hidden by his arm. I didn’t know why I hadn’t noticed it before, but I stopped and stared at it and placed my fingers on the design.

“This one’s new too,” I whispered. It seemed like a whispering moment.

Ambrose had stilled, and all expression disappeared from his face. “Yes.”

“When did you get this?”

“Two months ago.”

Only two inches high and rather intricate in its details, a red football rested against a stack of books. The books were shaded, very faintly, each in a different color, to make a rainbow. There were no titles on the spines, just the shading to show pages and slight creases in the spines. Ambrose didn’t read books. And why did he shade them in rainbow colors?

“It’s you and me,” he confessed quietly. “A reminder to me. A reminder of you. Of friendship. But mostly that differences are okay.”

“You tattooed me on your body?” I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t.

“Yeah. Even if you never talked to me again, you’ve been in my life forever, Shane. You were a friend and playmate growing up. You were a big brother, counselor, and coconspirator. You were the person who was there cheering me on, no matter what. You tutored me, rebuked me, and most importantly, fed me.”

I laughed like he meant me to. “You were there for me too,” I said.

But Ambrose shook his head. “No. Not like you were there for me. Nothing like that. Do you know I wouldn’t be playing AFL if it weren’t for you?”

That wasn’t true, and I immediately corrected him. “Don’t be stupid. You have the talent. You did that all by yourself.”

Again he shook his head. “No. AFL is much more than talent. You have to play the game, but you also have to be mentally fit. You have to know the other team. You have to get in their mind space and keep your own. You have to have the ability to get up every morning, no matter what happened the previous day, and do your training. You were the one who helped with all of that. You were the one during my childhood who egged me on, who praised me when I needed it and I knew I could come home to every night. Even when I went to Melbourne, you were still there for me. After every game you’d message and tell me if I did well. Praise, encouragement, and a tongue-lashing if I mucked up. Remember the first time I got reported?”

I grimaced.

Ambrose had accidentally broken another player’s nose when he went into a tackle with a little too much enthusiasm. He’d been reported to the tribunal for it but was let off with a fine, since it was his first incident and it was deemed careless rather than deliberate.

“You messaged me before the game had even finished and told me to apologize. I did. I went immediately and found Trent and checked he was okay. He put in a good word for me at the tribunal. Can you imagine if I’d had to miss the next game?”

The following week, Ambrose played one of the best games of his life. He was on fire, on the ball, and booted a marvelous six goals.

“You can’t tell me I was the reason you played that well.”

He shrugged. “I knew you were watching. You always watch. I knew I had disappointed you the previous week, so I was making it up to you.”

I sobered. “I don’t always watch. I haven’t watched since preseason.”

To my surprise Ambrose put a forgiving hand on my thigh. “I know. It was my fault. I ruined it between us because I took it for granted. What happened that night? I wanted to apologize, but I didn’t know how to say the words. But you were right to shut me down. It’s made me reevaluate my life. It’s been good.”

“Yeah?”

He gave a firm nod and touched the tattoo. “And so I got this as a reminder—you and me, what always was… and what I want again. I want to make you proud of me again, Shane.”

Those tears threatened once more. “Oh, Ambrose. I’ve always been proud of you. Whether it was because you were getting an award at school or because you finally made that C grade in Mr. Evans’s class or because you made the AFL. You’ve come so far. Even if you never play another game, you make me proud.”

I loved him.

I’d loved him when I was eighteen, I loved him when I was twenty-five, and I still loved him. It was why I could never make it work with anyone else. I could date them and sexually desire them, but they never took my heart because it was in Melbourne with Ambrose.

I leaned down and kissed him softly.

“Shane.” My name was a sob against my mouth.

I sipped at his lips and tasted the word as it fell from his tongue. Ambrose. I loved him and wanted to celebrate that.

The condom was near my ankle, and I reached for it, handed it over, and then grabbed the lube. Within a minute we were ready to go.

Ambrose’s gaze was hooded, and he watched the expression on my face as I reached back, lined up his cock with my hole, and pushed down. I knew he was watching me, because I was watching him. He waited and gave me time before the penetration was comfortable and I could move freely. I stared at him and remembered that he had me permanently tattooed on his skin. For a fleeting moment, I hated the condom that was between us. I wanted to feel him inside me and know it was him, not separated by the thinnest of sheaths.

As I began to rock back and forth on his rigid cock, I imagined how it would be to have his hot come shoot inside me, taking me, branding me, claiming me as his own. I leaned forward and continued to rock so his dick slid in and out of me with each movement. The position wasn’t as intense as being pushed into the bed while Ambrose pounded me from behind. The penetration wasn’t as deep or forceful, but for the first time since we’d last made love, it was powerful.

My brain shut down as my senses arrowed in on where we joined. I was only aware of the two of us, the movement of our bodies, the heat of our skin, and the sound of our breathing as we experienced the pleasure of coming together. My eyes were closed as I concentrated on that warmth, that wetness. I threw back my head and rocked faster.

Then I leaned back on my hands, thrust myself onto his cock, and worked us both to climax. Then there was a touch on my dick. I didn’t bother to open my eyes. I was too far gone. With Ambrose working me into a frenzy, I cried out a warning that I was going to come. Ambrose tightened his grip and pulled hard.

I came.

“Keeping going. I’m nearly there.” Ambrose’s command urged me on. My body clenched with the force of my orgasm, but I pounded up and down on his dick and prolonged my orgasm until I was sure my teeth were going to crack because I was holding my jaw so tightly.

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

Ambrose gripped my hips as he helped me move in those last thrusts that he needed to come. He pushed up with his good leg and dug his fingertips into the soft flesh of my hips.

“Fuck, yes. Fuck, yes. Fuck.”

He pushed me down one final time and kept me there as his body attempted to bow up. I breathed hard and started stepping down off that plane of pleasure to find my body was aching in awkward spots. When I sat up to relieve the pressure on my spine and thighs, Ambrose lessened his grip on my hips. I leaned forward and saw my come gracing his chest. It was a pretty sight.

He released me and thrust his hands through his hair, but he had cut it all off, so he ended up gripping his skull. His eyes were closed as though he were in pain.

I gingerly climbed off him. “Ambrose? You okay? Did that hurt?”

He took a big breath, and his chest expanded and brought my attention back to my come and the tattoo on his side. I smiled as I looked at it.

“Yes.”

My smile turned to a frown. “Yes, you’re okay? Or yes, that hurt?”

His eyes opened, and his gaze met mine. His eyes were sparkling with happiness. “Both. It hurt, but that’s okay because… yeah. Wow. Fuck.”

I stared at the length of his body lying on the sheets of my bed and had another moment. Wow. Ambrose Jakoby was naked in my bed, wearing my come, his dick covered in a condom, and he was happy about it.

So was I.

I could get used to this life.