Training Mac's Lips
Despite catching a few good hours of sleep—on the floor, in a room of his own, with the door locked—Mac was still yawning when he shoved his coat in his locker Friday. A paper fell out and he stooped to pick it up.
Oh. A check for a hundred and fifty dollars, with UNIFORM ALLOTMENT in the memo line.
A hundred and fifty dollars. For clothes.
“Smoke break, handsome,” Lupe said, stepping up beside him. “Oooh, Mac, tell me you’re not shopping alone. You can’t. I’m surprised the Professor didn’t just send down a catalogue and let the rest of us choose.”
He shoved the check in the back pocket of his jeans and pulled the coat back out, automatically checking for his cigarettes. “I hate shopping.”
“Oh, I can tell.”
“Shut up, Lupe.”
She grinned, bright white teeth behind shimmering gold lipstick. “I’ll be right back. Is that the only coat you have?”
“My coat is fine.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Mac felt the check again, as if it could somehow dematerialize, and wondered if the store would still cash checks for him. Technically they charged non-employees, but he was still an employee this week, so maybe he could cash this check tomorrow and pick up some clothes.
Shit, he had to come up with a better plan. He couldn’t be cashing his paychecks at the store. For one, he didn’t want anyone there knowing where he worked, and for two, he didn’t want anyone there knowing how much he made.
He needed a bank account. But he couldn’t get one after all the shit he’d pulled with the last one.
“Let’s go,” Lupe called, holding some kind of thick magazine.
Mac followed her up the stairs, letting her swipe her card for both of them. They stayed close to the building tonight. The wind had picked up and the roof walls shielded them a little, but it was still cold out.
“So let’s see what character you’re gonna play here at The Gym, Mac.”
“Character?”
“Sure, hon. It’s better to have a character. Most of the kids do it.” She waved her cigarette. “You know, lets you get into the right headspace for work.”
“Are you playing a character?”
“Oh hell no. I played a character for twenty years; now what you see is what you get, baby. But for you, I think we should pick a classic trainer look. Something butch.” She flipped to the middle of the catalogue, holding the pages down with the palm of her cigarette hand. “This wind is dismal. How about these? Basic track pants, easy on and off, and I think you could pull off those big print shirts, the ones that look ridiculous on most people, but my guess is you don’t want to.”
“Do they have T-shirts? I usually buy mine three for ten.”
“Honey,” Lupe said, pointing her smoke over his head. “The people who come here are dripping with wealth.”
“Well, I’m not dripping with wealth. And I’m not trying to impress anyone.”
“Be practical. It isn’t about impressing people, it’s about making it easier for them to transfer their wealth to you. Remove barriers. Cheap cotton shirts are a barrier. That attitude is only a barrier sometimes. The wrong shoes are a barrier.” She rolled her eyes. “Cigarette smoke is a barrier, especially to Coach. Make it easy on the clients, Mac. The fewer barriers you throw up, the more wealth flows from them to you.”
“Huh.”
“Sounds good, doesn’t it? That’s one of the Professor’s lectures. I modified it a little. But this is why you play a character. Most everyone’s playing a character. People like you and I play characters who had better parents, cleaner houses, more food on the table, and fewer bruises.” The cherry of the cigarette leveled at his face. “Right, Mac?”
People beat on Lupe? How could you? She was massive. Maybe they beat on her because she was massive. There was no fucking winning.
“Okay,” he said. “Yeah, I get that. But I still don’t see why it matters about my shirts. Isn’t a shirt just a shirt?”
“Hell no. What size are you? I’m gonna circle all the stuff I think would look good on Butch Mac with Something to Prove and a Heart of Gold, and you can just pick out the pieces you want.”
“Butch Mac with—what?”
“That’s your character. Butch Mac with Something to Prove and a Heart of Gold.”
“You just kind of crammed all the cliches in there you could fit, huh?”
She whapped him with the catalogue and went back to work, pulling a pen from the little purse she kept her cigarettes in.
Mac’s fifth day at The Gym was the day he almost made the entire staff late because apparently outfitting him was a team sport, and Lupe was team captain, standing at the head of the table vetoing things. When everyone scattered, she pressed the catalogue into his arms and said, “Save some money for a warmer coat, Butch.”
He probably should have shoved it in his locker, but holding it in front of him as he walked down the hall made him feel a little like he had a shield, like he had protection from Coach’s good intentions. Or maybe Coach would be so pissed about yesterday he’d make the Professor take him. The Professor was a little scary, but at least she didn’t seem to care about his feelings.
Mac knocked on the door to the office with the catalogue clutched to his chest.
He expected a shouted “Come in!” What he got was Coach opening the door and dragging him inside by his collar.
“Hello, Mac.” One hand pressed flat against the catalogue, pinning Mac to the wall. Coach closed the door.
“Hey, Coach.”
“Shopping?”
“Lupe doesn’t trust me on my own. She said people might tip me less if I wear T-shirts. Something about transferring wealth, or something.”
Coach grinned, and he was close, really close, right in front of Mac, grinning, looking him in the eye. He could probably feel how quickly Mac was breathing.
“If we had to pick our replacements, Jem would be the new me, and Lupe would be the new Professor. She eats up all that philosophical stuff.”
“You don’t, Coach?”
“I know if I’m good to my clients, they’re happy, and clients being happy makes me more money. I’m not so sure about the minutiae, but hey, but whatever works for Lupe works for me.” Coach leaned in closer, until they were nose-to-nose. “Hello, Mac. How did moving go?”
“Good. I mean, I haven’t actually brought anything inside except my guitar, but there’s a door.”
“And you told your friend you found a place?”
Mac bit down on his tongue. “She said it was good.”
“Oh yeah?”
“She said it was probably a good thing, because of her mom. Then her mom called and said I owed her next month’s rent because I didn’t give notice.”
“You didn’t give notice so she could—rent out her couch?”
“I know. She’s a bitch.”
“She trying to get you to stick around? Or is she punishing you for leaving?”
“Both, probably. I think she thought, you know, I’d get sick of the couch.”
“And beg to be allowed in her bed, like a dog?”
Mac grimaced. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen that dynamic. You give her the money?”
“Cashed out my check the second I got off work and put it in an envelope,” Mac said, looking up. He felt a little triumphant. He was done with Annabel’s mom for good. He had a door. His guitar wasn’t sitting in his car, buried under blankets and clothes to insulate it from the weather.
“A lot’s changed for you this week, Mac.”
Fuck. More feelings. “Coach, you know anything about getting a bank account with bad credit?”
Coach blinked.
“I tried last year, but I couldn’t open one.” Which had been so fucking humiliating, he could feel himself get angry just thinking about it.
“There are places that will do it, but keep your eye on the fine print. They usually charge fees for everything and screw you over bad if you miss a rule.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll look into it.” Didn’t exactly solve the issue of the uniform money, but even if the store charged him, he could still buy some of this stuff.
“You gonna ask me the obvious next question?”
“What?”
Coach sighed, loudly. “The obvious next question. The one that follows after we both know you’ve got a check and no bank account. Come on, Mac. What do you say?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Coach.”
“Of course you don’t.” Coach tipped his forehead against Mac’s. “You know what you’re buying?”
“Lupe picked out some stuff. She said I should play a character, and I should have a slightly different look than everyone else. She’s calling it, uh—” He paused, and for a second he couldn’t remember. “Butch Mac with Something to Prove and a Heart of Gold.”
“Sister Lupe is such a surprise,” Coach said. “She’s never assigned herself to a new staff member like this before, though she’s going through her level seven, so maybe she’s starting to contemplate her role differently.”
“What’s level seven?”
“Security.”
“Right, okay. I don’t know. I like her.”
“Let’s see what she’s picking for your costume.” Instead of leading him to a couch, Coach went over to the desk and pulled up the computer. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, because you’ll make this as complicated as it’s possible to make it. We’re gonna order whatever you’re buying and I’ll give you cash for whatever’s left of that check. You can sign it over to me, Mac.”
“Uh…”
“See, I’m giving you fewer choices now. I’ve decided bulldozing you is gonna work out better for both of us.” Coach loaded a website with the same logo as the catalogue. “Show me some gear.”
He reluctantly set it down on the desk and went to the first page with the corner turned down.
“I approve of these. Get two pairs. You can always buy more later.”
“They’re thirty dollars each. Coach, I can’t spend thirty bucks on a pair of workout pants.”
“Uniform pants. What else?”
Coach entered item numbers and amounts, only selecting things in black and gray. They’d maxed out his hundred and fifty dollars way too fast, but Coach kept playing with the order. He’d find a shirt on sale, add three, subtract two other shirts that were not on sale. Mac watched, a little horrified, a little grateful. Between Lupe and Coach, this was a lot simpler than wandering around the discount store trying to figure out what would help him blend in with the rest of the staff.
“There. Wait, are those your only shoes?”
Mac looked down at his sneakers. He’d scrubbed them clean in the bathroom at Annabel’s before his first day, but they’d gotten a little scuffed since then. “Yeah?”
“Not gonna work. Most of the staff keep one pair of shoes in their locker and only wear them here. Goes along with the fantasy that you guys only exist for the clients.” He pulled something out from the back of the third drawer down and scratched out another check. “We’re adding to your uniform fund.”
“Coach, I can just clean these—”
“I’d love to see you explain that to Lupe. Nope, it’s done. Let’s see.”
The shoes on this website started at a hundred dollars, and those were the simplest, most basic models. Mac choked.
“I can’t afford these.”
“Okay, it’s between that one, that one, and that one.”
“Coach, they’re all way too much money.”
“If it makes you feel better, we can call this a cash advance on your first paycheck.”
Actually, that made him feel better. Though not any more happy about spending it. “Okay. But these are all still too expensive.”
“These,” Coach said, pointing to the middle pair. Gray with blue and black. He added them to the order.
“But the ones up there were—”
“Obviously the cheapest things you could find. Nope, Lupe’s right. You go with the bottom of the line, they’ll know and form assumptions about you based on that choice.”
“You and Lupe really think people are gonna be looking at my shoes?”
Coach hit Buy and entered Okay for the auto-saved credit card. Once the order had gone through (for a staggering amount of money; a little more than he’d left for rent at Annabel’s place), Coach turned his chair and looked Mac up and down. He’d been close, in order to see the screen, but now he was just close. Like Jem had been last night.
Shit. Mac could still picture the way Jem had cradled Coach’s face, leaning down for a kiss. The way Coach hand rested hands casually around Jem’s waist.
Not like this. Not both of them staring at each other. Waiting.
“We have a standing arrangement with that company. Two day shipping. Everything should be here Tuesday morning at the latest.”
“Is it okay if I wear my old stuff Monday?”
“You’re shadowing Jem on Monday, you might ask him. No jeans, but if you have anything else, he’ll probably be fine with it. Or offer to lend you something.”
“I’m shadowing Jem?”
“Yep.”
Mac felt immediately, unaccountably relieved. “Oh. Okay.” After a moment he added, “Good.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Coach said dryly.
“No, just, I still hardly know anyone.”
“We have you with Jem, Punky, Lupe, the Professor, and me.”
“Wait, you and the Professor will be on the floor?”
Coach grinned. “Oh yeah. Yeah, wait till you see the Professor on the floor. Should be fantastic. I can’t wait to hear the story.”
“So you scheduled me with the only people I’ve actually talked to more than once.”
“It helps that you managed to hit a cross section of services in your brief travels. This will be Punky’s first shadow since she switched over to maintenance.”
“Oh.” Punky did maintenance? That was kind of interesting.
“Yep.”
“What does Jem do?”
“Jem walks the floor. You’ll see. He’ll introduce you around to the regulars.”
“Okay.” The regulars, right. Regulars. Like if you have regulars at a bar, you know what they drink. If you have regulars at your sex gym, you probably know some different stuff.
“Plus, I’ve got kind of a surprise planned for Jem, but don’t mention anything about it. I like surprising him.”
“I won’t.” Mac studied Coach for a second. “You kissed him last night.”
“I wondered if you were awake for that. I thought I saw you open your eyes, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“Only a little. But you definitely kissed him.”
“I definitely did.”
There was a question here. Mac had a question, about what was expected, about how he was supposed to act. “Would you have kissed him on the floor like that?”
“Nope.”
Which was pretty much what he’d figured. And still didn’t quite answer the question he wasn’t sure how to form.
“You kissed him. And it wasn’t for training. And it wasn’t really—it wasn’t really casual, either.”
“True.”
Dammit. “And Jem’s gay and you’re queer, but also you’re married to the Professor.”
“All facts.”
“Coach—” Try something new. “Who’s Ryan?”
Coach leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving Mac’s. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”
“I’m trying to understand what you want from me. What you expect from me. I don’t—I don’t get how I fit in here, or why you hired me except that I remind the Professor of you, which doesn’t seem like a very good reason to hire someone. And I’m nothing like you, anyway.”
“Hang on.” Coach turned to the computer and locked it down. Mac had to move when he stood up or they’d be practically in each other’s arms, and even though Coach didn’t seem to notice, Mac felt that phantom embrace like a weight on his skin, like something that had happened before and would happen again.
“Come sit with me. Take some water.”
Right. Mac grabbed two bottles and followed Coach to the couch. This time sitting next to Coach felt almost normal.
“The Professor has a colleague who saw you in one of his classes. You were with a young woman, possibly your friend Annabel, and you seemed engaged with the course materials even though you weren’t enrolled in the class.”
Mac stopped breathing. He knew that day. He knew exactly that day. He searched his mind for a memory of the professor of Annabel’s social work class, but couldn’t come up with anything about the guy.
“You weren’t there the following week and he asked after you, but your friend said you’d just had specific questions about the reading, and you weren’t actually a student. She did, however, offer your name and phone number to him. He had the impression that she seemed worried about you, and thought he might find a way to convince you to enroll.”
That sounded exactly like Annabel. She was always telling him that he should go back to school, even though he had less than no money, and it wasn’t like he was gonna end up in a career, so it’d be pointless.
Mac picked at his hands and tried to process everything Coach was saying.
“The Professor’s pretty good at her spiel, isn’t she? The whole ‘It’s come to our attention you might be a good fit for a position we have open’ thing. It was weird, but she didn’t sound like a scammer, and she made it sound like she’d talked to someone who knew you, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I figured she was probably gonna offer me a supervisor job at another store and she just couldn’t come right out and transfer me until I said yes.”
“She’s good.”
“But we talked. I mean, she and I—she shouldn’t have hired me after that, Coach. I did everything wrong. I answered all of her questions wrong the first time we met. I sounded like the worst employee ever.” He flushed, remembering how easy she’d made it to say things he probably shouldn’t have said.
“She offered you a second interview, in public but out of ear shot. At a park, right?”
Mac swallowed. “This is getting creepier by the minute.”
“At that interview, she felt you out about The Gym. She subtly assessed your attitudes about sex.” Coach shifted, pulling his leg up so he could sit sideways. “Mac, the Professor would have never hired you if she’d known about your finances. She thought you were working poor, not five minutes from homeless. You had a full time job, making minimum wage, yes, but it should have been enough to do more than couch surf, right?”
“When’s the last time you made minimum wage, Coach?”
“It’s been a long time. And it sucked. But you’re mostly living out of your car right now. You don’t buy expensive clothes, you aren’t going out clubbing all the time, and you don’t appear to have any hobbies, let alone expensive ones.” Coach shook his head. “I’m gonna ask one more time, and you don’t have to tell me. I’ve seen every inch of your skin and I can’t find a single thing that makes me think you’re on drugs, so it’s none of my business. But I’m about to be paying you an awful lot of money and I’m curious as hell as to what you plan to do with it.”
He thought he’d done a pretty good job of evading the Professor, and he’d told Coach only the truth hoping to avoid telling all of the truth. But it didn’t really matter.
“My mom. I give it to my mom. My dad’s crazy, but he’s functional crazy. He works. He has an apartment. My mom is more fucked up crazy. She’s part of this church and they usually put her up in people’s houses, but she never has money, so sometimes she doesn’t eat. And she doesn’t notice that she’s not eating. I give what I can to my mom. She needs it more than I do.”
Coach nodded. “Is she the reason your credit’s messed up?”
“I’m the reason my credit’s messed up. When I turned eighteen I got all those card offers, and I filled them out, you know? All of them. I thought it was easier to walk away. I didn’t really know how they tied everything together with your social security number, which I know sounds pretty stupid. But it got us a few months in crappy hotel rooms after a few years of being in trailers without running water, or showing up at my dad’s, which was worse.”
“I understand that. You were taking care of your mom.”
“I’m not a fucking after school special. I’m not a nice kid who had a bad ride, Coach, okay? I don’t need your fucking sympathy.”
“And yet, you’ve got it anyway. You going to try to find a place you and your mom can rent?”
Mac shook his head. “I can’t go back to living with her. I know that sounds shitty, but it’s exhausting, being with her all the time. I want to save up so I have more choices, you know? I just want to not feel like every day is deeper into a tunnel with no fucking end.”
“Yep.”
“Coach. This whole thing—this can’t be part of the training. Why’re you wasting a bunch of time with all these questions?”
“I don’t consider this wasted time. I’m done with the questions, at least for now. Thank you for answering them.”
“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I just want to stop feeling so bad all the time.”
“That’s what the Professor picked up on, right there.” Coach leaned forward. “That desperation is very like me. C’mere, Mac. I can’t fix all the shit in your head, but I can give you the next five hours of feeling a little less fucked up, if you let me.”
“You really think so?”
“I really do.”
“Even though I hate cuddling?”
“Good point. The next five hours might just fuck you up more. C’mere.”
Mac moved closer and when Coach caught his chin and held it, he managed to not look away.
“I’m beginning to think you haven’t given cuddling a fair shot.”
“Shut up, Coach.”
“Sure thing.”
The warmth of Coach’s lips was now familiar and Mac was too damn tired to fight the comfort he took from it. He leaned in and shut his eyes and let Coach kiss him until the warmth spread out across his skin.
“Oh, the things I have planned for you,” Coach murmured, kissing toward his ear, then down. He didn’t speak while he chewed on Mac’s neck, and when he lifted his head, the air on Mac’s wet skin made him shiver. “I argued strenuously for these hours, Mac.”
“Waste of time.”
“Not even a little. Take off my shirt. Make me feel like this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all day.”
What if it is? Mac slid his hands under Coach’s hem and pulled up, letting the side of each palm drag over skin.
“Good, good. So good I’d almost think you weren’t pretending.”
“Shut up, Coach.”
Coach laughed. Then he reached for Mac’s shirt and pulled it off. He latched onto Mac’s neck and moved lower, one hand gripping a shoulder, the other roaming. His mouth was hot and left a cool trail behind it.
“Coach—” Mac whispered. Too much, too fast. “Coach—”
“Mm hm.” Coach lifted his head. “Come lie down with me.”
“What if I can’t? What if I can’t do this?”
“What if you can’t accept pleasure?”
“How fucked up does that make me, Coach?”
“That depends. You have trouble accepting pleasure outside of this office?”
Mac thought about that one, if only to avoid looking up. He got off with girls. That was probably pleasure, though it’d always been over so fast he hadn’t thought about it that way. “Pleasure’s not really my goal.”
“Tonight your pleasure is my goal. And if you can’t, you can’t. But you said the other night that you liked being numb because pleasure was fleeting. I’m trying to get around that by extending it without adding additional pressure.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Come lie down.” Coach tugged his arms up, but stood there with him for a minute. “I know you don’t trust me. And after last night, I don’t know, maybe you’re right. But here’s what I can promise you: tonight is about connection, not sex. You can make requests, but I’ll be happy to kiss and cuddle until the end of the shift.”
“I don’t want connection,” Mac mumbled, looking at his feet.
“This is your fifth shift, and I’ve been telling you since Tuesday that cuddling is what it’d be about. Yet here you are, not full of dread, not full of fear. Here you are, kissing me like maybe this isn’t your least favorite way of spending your time.”
Mac titled forward before he realized he was doing it, settling his head against Coach’s neck. “Shut up, Coach.”
“Nah. Talking’s fun.” Hands on his back, fingers trailing up and down. “I like talking.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
A light swat to the seat of his pants. Mac jumped and dug his face in harder against Coach’s skin.
“Come lie down with me. I want to touch you and taste you and kiss you more. I can take it slowly. The Professor thinks I’m way off-base, by the way. She thinks I’m just gonna push you deeper into your shell. But I’ve seen you let yourself relax, just for a few moments at a time. I know you can do it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“That’s okay. All of it’s okay.”
He let Coach lead him to the blanket-covered mat. They lay side-by-side with Coach’s leg over his, Coach’s arm on his back, holding him close. Between the leg and the arm he expected force, but got sweetness, light kisses pressed to his cheek, to his forehead, to his jaw.
“You can close your eyes.”
But no, he couldn’t. He had to keep watching Coach’s lips.
“Or no. Watch the needle, I forgot.” The hand on his back slid up to his shoulder, to press over his inked heart. “Such a puzzle.”
Coach pulled Mac’s hand up and kissed each fingertip, then kissed his palm, his wrist. Mac bit his tongue, watching, amazed by how much he felt it. Fingers, palm—he spent every day touching things, but the brush of Coach’s lips was intense. He shivered.
“You can kiss me if you want. You don’t have to ask, you don’t have to wait for permission, you don’t have to keep your eyes open. You can kiss me and not worry about anything else.”
How the fuck did Coach know? How did Coach know he was lying here wondering if he could make Coach feel something that intensely? He hardly knew he was thinking that himself.
Mac leaned in, kissing Coach’s neck, rubbing his lips across stubble. He took back his hand and used it, cradling the back of Coach’s head, holding him in place. It didn’t matter that Coach was a man, or stronger, or his boss; the only thing Mac wanted was to surprise this guy into feeling something new.
It was probably impossible, but fuck it. Everything about this week was impossible.
He shoved Coach back and knelt over him, looking down, analyzing data. What had Coach said about nipples? He liked biting. Mac leaned down, swiping one hard nub with his tongue, then descending with teeth. He started with a nibble, didn’t get much of a response, and stepped it up.
“Yeah, do it, fuck, Mac, do it.” Had he ever heard Coach say fuck before? Because making Coach curse was hot.
Mac switched to the other side and started right in, yanking on Coach’s nipple with his teeth. When hands came down on his head, he expected to be pulled away, but they didn’t.
“Oh yeah, you trying to hurt me now? Come on, make me feel it. Make me feel everything you feel.”
Mac communicated Fuck you with a particularly harsh bite and Coach laughed, fingers tugging a little on his hair.
“Yeah, we both know that’s what you’re doing. I’m trying to bring you pleasure, you’re trying to bring me pain. It’s a dance, Mac. C’mere. Kiss me. Hard.”
Kissing hard was a whole new thing. Kissing brutally, invading, forcing lips and teeth to part, tongues fighting for control. Yeah, maybe Mac wasn’t anti-kissing. Maybe he just needed to find the right kind of kissing.
“Yeah,” Coach panted against his mouth. “Use your lips, your teeth. Fuck my mouth with your tongue. Make me feel it.”
“Shut up, Coach.” Shut up, shut up, shut up, why don’t I make you?
The way Coach smiled up at him through the kisses, though. Bastard. Nothing Mac did made him pause for a second.
He tried gnawing on Coach’s ear, which got him staccato gasps, but no protest. He chewed down to his nipples and re-upped his attack, but that just seemed to drive Coach insane, arching up, begging for more.
Coach begging for more was pretty hot. Think about that later. Or possibly never.
“I can do anything?” he asked, looking up from an in-depth study of Coach’s tats with his teeth.
“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”
They stared at each other. Coach was flushed, but his expression looked open and fucking welcoming, like always. Like he only had one setting and it was love.
No, no, definitely do not think the word love while staring at Coach.
Coach reached up to touch the side of his face, but Mac pulled away.
“Sorry.” This time Coach reached both hands over his head and left them there.
Mac went back to gnawing on Coach’s nipples and closed his eyes. Because if you can’t see the needle it can’t hurt you; if you can’t see your hands shoving down Coach’s waistband, you probably aren’t taking off his pants.
And he probably isn’t lifting his ass to let you.
He wanted to be rough. He wanted to hear that “no,” if only to prove Coach put anything off-limits. Mac wasn’t sure why that was so fucking important to him, but it was, so he’d meant to chew Coach’s balls like he’d chewed his nipples, because no way he’d just take that. He’d probably slam Mac so hard into the mat he’d feel it for days.
That’s what he was waiting for. What he needed. He needed to know what this guy would do if he crossed that line, how bad it would hurt, and if he’d just keep going or back off. That was the thing about Joseph. Joseph always kept going.
Mac pressed his eyes against Coach’s stomach and banished all thoughts of his brother. Because that was sick and wrong and made him want to puke.
Also, knowing what he wanted kind of fucked up the game, because he’d probably have to push Coach really far to get him to fight back. And he didn’t want to push anyone that far, not really.
He left his eyes closed against skin and reached out, belly, thigh, knee, thigh, belly, dick. He jacked Coach loosely without looking. Yeah, now that he wasn’t freaked out he could feel more. He could feel the way Coach’s dick pulsed with his heartbeat. He could maybe feel it getting bigger and harder, or maybe he was making that up.
It wasn’t much of a leap to shift over and open his mouth. Today Coach tasted good. His chest tasted like sweat and skin. His dick tasted like Coach.
Mac got down lower and pushed Coach’s legs apart, hands gripping hard so Coach would know that’s what he wanted. When he let go, Coach held still. Yeah, balls, shaved balls, okay, he gave Coach little squeezes and kept jacking him. Coach liked those little squeezes, quick ones. Mac experimented with a slightly longer hold and Coach grunted. He sucked harder, squeezed longer, and Coach’s hands landed in his hair again.
“If you want me to come, keep doing what you’re doing.”
Did he want Coach to come? He pulled down on Coach’s sac, maybe too hard, but Coach arched up into his mouth. Yeah, do that again. This time he got an incoherent ugggghhhrrr.
Yeah, okay, maybe he did want Coach to come.
Mac went all-out, pulling and kneading and jacking and sucking. He sucked Coach’s dick like he was trying to survive underwater and it was the only way to get oxygen. One of Coach’s hands shifted around to his cheek and Coach was watching, Coach was looking down at him, but Mac didn’t look up. He pulled down, squeezed, and Coach came without warning, flooding his mouth with jizz.
He swallowed as much as he could, a little resentfully. Dammit. That would have been the perfect blowjob if Coach had fucking said he was coming, given him five seconds to breathe first.
Mac rolled off and grabbed the closest box of tissues, mopping his face and hands, grabbing another one and mopping Coach. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I like seeing my come.”
The fuck? Mac looked up. “Huh?”
“It’s hot, seeing my come on your lips, on your face.” Coach had taken his arms back, replaced them over his head. “I like pulling out at the last minute and coming on a guy’s ass, too. Or a girl’s stomach. I don’t know why it’s a guy’s ass and a girl’s stomach, but it is.” He shrugged. “I like seeing my come.”
“That’s fucking weird.”
“No weirder than anything else.”
Mac realized he was still in his jeans; Coach was naked with his dick getting soft, and Mac was still hard as hell in his jeans.
“Fewer choices for you today. Kiss me, Mac. You know I like kissing after a blowjob.”
Yeah, not something Mac needed to know about anyone, but here he was, and yeah, there were worse ideas than lying down right now, kissing Coach. Even if he couldn’t look him in the eye.
Even if Coach’s arm came up around him like they were fucking cuddling after all.
Coach shifted, and a second later he was pulling a blanket over both of them.
“I hate cuddling.”
“I know.”
He leaned in to kiss the scar on Coach’s neck, then traced it with a fingertip. “This looks like it was deep.”
“It was. The Professor still feels bad about it.”
Shit, what? Mac looked up. “The Professor tried to stab you?”
“No. God, no. She was trying to kill herself and I grabbed the knife she was using. She didn’t mean to hurt me.”
The Professor was trying to kill herself? That made no sense. He didn’t even know how to ask about it.
“I thought I’d avoided this question earlier.” Coach stretched and pulled Mac with him, tugging his head down. Now he was lying on Coach’s chest, which definitely should have been more freaky, but with the blanket and the weight of Coach’s arm, he felt warm.
“You asked about Ryan. Ryan was my best friend, and the Professor’s little brother. He was impossible, and infuriating, and when he died both of us thought we’d go crazy without him. She wanted to die. I wanted to kill other people. Somehow between us she lived and I didn’t go to prison.”
“He the one who gave you the tattoo?”
“Yep. He’s the guy I couldn’t break down into pieces. I liked all of him. I loved it when he smiled, or when he frowned because he thought I was fucking with him.”
“Were you fucking with him?”
“All the time.”
Mac spread his fingers flat over Coach’s heart, where somewhere deep in his tissues the ink of that first tattoo still stained him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“Being sad because of good memories is an okay kind of sad, I think. I wish I’d been braver. I was so afraid of how much I wanted him, of how deeply I felt for him. I didn’t want to feel like that about anyone, let alone Ryan. Plus, I thought the Professor might kill me.”
“Please say you didn’t call her ‘the Professor’ when you guys were kids.”
Coach laughed. “No. We didn’t.”
Mac hesitated before deciding to come clean. “She called you Eric the other night.”
The arm around him squeezed, then relaxed. “Light sleeper, huh? How much did you hear?”
“Something about being a pet, that the Professor thought I’d like, and you thought I wouldn’t like.”
“Some people value stability more than they value autonomy. You’re searching for stability, but I don’t think you’d be willing to trade your autonomy for it.”
“I don’t know what all that even means.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Coach kissed his head. “You have more questions?”
Mac closed his eyes. “I might be queer, like you are.”
“Yep.”
“I might not be.”
“True.”
“Does it matter?”
“Not to me. Does it matter to you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Feels like it should.”
“You’ve got the rest of your life to work it out, Mac.”
“Unless I kick off tomorrow.”
“I’m open to talking about it more if you want to.”
“Yeah, no. I really really don’t.”
“Didn’t think so.”
The hand on Mac’s shoulder worked up into his hair. He tensed, waiting for a suggestion, a demand, but nothing came. Coach’s hand just carded through his hair again and again, brushing it back, smoothing it over his ear.
He wanted to resist how good it felt. He couldn’t.
Mac might have fallen asleep. Or just dozed. He felt Coach kiss him, and felt Coach’s body shift until Mac was on his back.
“There are no rules,” Coach murmured, kissing his jaw. “You can choose sleep.”
He shook his head.
“My turn for a little while, then.”
Coach kept kissing, gently, a barely there pressure of lips and breath. He spent what felt like forever on the base of Mac’s throat, licking, sucking lightly, rubbing his stubble over skin at the second it was most sensitive.
That gasping sound was Mac. He trembled, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I know it won’t actually make you happy to hear this, but you’re an incredibly rewarding lover, Mac.”
“Fuck you, Coach. I’m no one’s fucking lover.”
“Mm.” Coach didn’t argue. He went back to discovering the places on Mac’s skin that made him tremble, and when Mac couldn’t take it, he stopped, pressing his palms over skin until Mac calmed again.
It became a rhythm, a current to the sensations of Coach’s fingers and lips and tongue. Mac could breathe more deeply. Each time he tensed up, Coach stopped until he relaxed.
He waited for Coach to take off his jeans, but Coach didn’t. Finally he realized that Coach didn’t plan to.
Mac reached down and unbuttoned his fly. Coach pulled his jeans the rest of the way down. He meant to close his eyes again, but watching the way Coach took in his body was fascinating. This time Coach started with his feet, breaking open a packet of oil for the kind of foot rub that made Mac feel like he’d never be able to walk again, like Coach had melted his muscles inside his skin. More oil for his legs, and Coach avoided the backs of his knees, skimming over the sides and moving up.
His thighs submitted to Coach’s fingers, and it wasn’t a total shock when Coach leaned down to suck on his hip bone. Or when his lips moved up and over, sucking now on the flesh beneath his belly button, ignoring his dick.
“Coach—come on—”
But Coach ignored him, reaching under to grab his ass, kneading it while he kept sucking on Mac’s stomach.
“Dammit, Coach—” Mac tried an experimental thrust up, but Coach only laughed against his skin. “Fuck you, suck me off!”
Coach pulled him up by his ass and sucked in his balls, intense pressure mixed with more focused licking, and Mac was pretty sure he was coming even before Coach pulled off and started in on his dick. The orgasm began in his balls and crested, then somehow rose higher when Coach’s mouth engulfed him, lips tight on his shaft, carrying him on a wave that lasted longer than any orgasm he’d ever had.
Even once it was over, Mac had a hard time inhaling, as if his entire body had shut down and had to be rebooted. Coach didn’t let go of him. He eased off and stayed near, and Mac wanted to tell him to back off, wanted to tell him to go the fuck away, he didn’t like cuddling, but he also wanted to be warm against Coach’s body again, so he said nothing at all.
Coach crawled up and pulled the blanket over them both. “Rest, Mac.”
He wanted to. He especially wanted to avoid any kind of conversation. But he couldn’t quite relax.
“Coach?”
“Yeah?”
“You really think I can do this job?”
Coach’s hand ran up into his hair. “I think after all the shit I put you through this week, being on the floor will be a cakewalk.”
Okay. Fuck it. Worth a shot. Mac pressed his hand over Coach’s heart again and closed his eyes.
* * *
Find out what happens when Mac observes The Gym in action! (And gets some pointers in private from his friends.) Buy now!
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