“Pass the ball!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “Pass the goddamn ball!”
All of a sudden, it’s passed to Shemar Morris, the king of three pointers. He doesn’t hesitate to shoot the ball despite his distance from the basket. The ball sinks in, hitting nothing but net a split second before the buzzer.
“Yeeeahhhhh!!!!” We shout in unison with the other screaming fans.
Shemar victoriously punches the air while his teammates rally their excitement as well.
Nothing like shattering a tied score at the very last moment.
Fuck, nothing like being at a game to witness it happening.
Hudson looks down at me with matched excitement. “That shit was amazing!”
“Best fucking thing to happen to the Hellcats.”
“Fuck yeah!”
Our excitement over the victory is exchanged once more before Hudson begins to wheel me towards the exit. As much as I hate being pushed around like some sort of child in a stroller, the crowded arena isn’t exactly the easiest place to maneuver. Coming in the two of us fought about it. Hudson’s adamant demanding that my pride was going to cost me more than just time away from the game rang louder than anticipated.
It’s a daily problem. I know people just want to help, but I don’t want help. I don’t want to need help. I may not be a fully functioning human being anymore, but I’m not helpless either. Every time Gwen has to reach something for me or assist in basic shit like putting my shoes on there’s an uncontrollable rage that roars inside of me. I’m working on smothering it, though Hudson has this way with words that proves the old saying you have to fight fire with fire. Unlike Gwen who obviously feels guilty whenever she pushes back, he does so unapologetically. It’s frustrating as hell…and sexy as fuck.
Hudson continues rambling on and on about Shemar’s career before Highland, but I find myself struggling to pay attention. My eyes keep catching those of people trying to avert their attention away from me. The gawking is something that shouldn’t still irk me after this long in a wheelchair, but it does. It’s also what keeps me from wanting to do anything outside the house. It’s hard enough being treated less than equal. Being stared at like you’re a freak only amplifies the feelings of inadequacy.
By the time we’re in the vehicle, all joy has been banished allowing bitterness to skillfully take its place.
Hudson turns around from the front to face me. “Are you really gonna sit back there and fucking pout right now? The Hellcats are most likely going to the playoffs this year, something we both didn’t think would be happening when the season started, and instead of celebrating that shit you’re moping? Why? Because a few people couldn’t stop staring at the dude in the wheelchair? You think you’re the only asshole in the world who goes through that? Get the fuck over yourself, Blondie. Stop letting other people prevent you from enjoying your life.”
As always his blunt way of calling me on my shit creates the instinct to wanna throw punches, but I don’t. I need the constant reminder. I need to know that the fault of this type of shit is on me. That I have more power than I let myself believe. What those fucking people think of me shouldn’t matter. They don’t know me. They don’t care about me. They don’t love me. I gotta learn to tune them out and focus on those who do. Like Gwen. Like…Hudson.
I try to ignore my bruised ego. “Who else do you think will end up there?”
His hazel eyes glow in victory. “Honestly? The Riverside Ravens are gonna be our biggest competition. They’ve lost, what? One game this season?”
My face sneers while nodding.
Hudson turns back around, and we begin bitching about our least favorite team in the league. Parking lot traffic moves about as slow as anticipated, but as soon as we’re out of it and on the highway, our drive home is brief. We argue the entire time over sports like they’re politics, conversation vacillating between heated and humorous.
“Bullshit!” he practically yells behind me as I wheel myself into the kitchen.
“Volume,” I scold, noticing the dimmed lights around the house. “Gwen’s probably asleep.”
He cringes. “Shit...my bad.”
“Want a beer?”
“Had two at the game.…” His hesitation surprises me. “Gotta drive home, so probably shouldn’t.”
“You can always crash on our couch or in one of the spare bedrooms.”
The first official invitation to stay over catches us both off guard.
Most of the time when we hang or he takes Gwen out, he leaves at the end of the night. Granted it’s usually late, but he always goes back to his apartment. While I’m not sure I’m ready to share my fucking bed with him, I don’t hate the idea of him being here when we get up in the morning. Or having breakfast with Gwen and him.
I clear my throat and open the fridge. “Beer?”
“Yeah.”
Once we’ve both got one, we relocate the living room where he drops onto the couch, and I park myself directly beside him. After agreeing to leave the lights off, he busies himself with flipping through channels while I open my beer. Hudson immediately stops searching the minute he comes across a James Bond movie. A debate on who is the best Bond in history naturally occurs, and I have to keep reminding him not to wake up our sleeping beauty.
Our. Whether or not it’s conventional, it’s the new truth. Gwen is ours. Along the same thought path that makes Hudson ours. As in mine. As in someone I shouldn’t hesitate to appreciate in all aspects.
I watch his mouth press to the opening of the beer bottle.
An unusual yearning to lick the lost droplet off his bottom lip races throughout my system.
The first time it was easy to blame it on booze. People do weird shit when they’ve been drinking or are shitfaced. But then it happened again. And again. And then we took Gwen in a new way last week. After that moment there was no way to deny my connection to Hudson was just mental. Seeing his cock and not being the one to examine it had me jealous the exact same way I was over the fact Gwen had another man’s dick on her tongue. When she came that night with my face buried between her thighs it was like someone finally turned the light on in my world of darkness. But when he came? It was like the entire foundation I stood on cracked. Hearing him come, feeling them both shudder, ripped a phantom orgasm out of me. It also left me wanting to do things with a man I’ve never done before. The thing is, Hudson’s not just some random guy. He’s…different. I don’t want him because he’s a dude. I want him because he’s Hudson. Because his lips make me groan. Because his eyes make my heart stall. Because he handles me like a human he enjoys being around instead of a human who humiliates him.
“Blondie,” his voice is low. Raspy.
My eyes debate on looking away from the side of his face I’m burning to touch. “Yeah?”
“You’re lookin’ at like me like you wanna do something.” Hudson slides his beer bottle to the table and lets his face turn towards mine. “You gonna do it or just spend all night thinking about it?”
I swallow my apprehension. “Not sure.”
The corner of his lip kicks up. “Would it help to know I want you to do it?”
A mixture of a groan and a chortle escapes me.
“Would it help if I told you I’ve been fighting a hard on since the moment I sat on this couch?” He shifts a bit closer. “That my dick is as hard as a fucking rock right now?”
My eyes drop to his crotch to discover the truth.
Hudson readjusts himself, and I wet my lips in anticipation of seeing it. Touching it. Fuck, stroking it.
I ignore the tiny voice in the back of my head begging me to think about labels and possible degradation that still comes from two men being together. “Show me.”
He leans back, loosens his jeans, and pulls his cock out. With his pants and boxers partially down his legs, he gives his nuts a good tug, slightly smiling at the pleasure it brings. Hudson’s body remains in its laid-back position even once I start to move. My hand slowly wraps around his shaft, uneasiness and excitement coursing side by side in my veins.
“Fuck,” Hudson groans softly.
The immediate reaction to increase the pressure is unconscious.
Another groan leaves him at the same time he lifts his hips up in an attempt to create more friction. An unusual combination of power and fascination encourage the next movements. I keep my grip tight and begin stroking at a moderate speed. Hudson promptly moans his approval. My attention stays planted on the familiar yet foreign body part in my possession. It’s not like I’ve never touched my own dick. It’s not unusual anatomy. On a scientific level, yeah, it’s the exact same, but it feels so fucking different. His cock is slightly shorter than mine used to be when it was fully erect. It’s smoother along the shaft. Heavier. Hotter to the touch. It feels like it’s throbbing in elation with each passing pump.
I watch with building intensity as Hudson struggles to keep from coming. The sight of his eyes falling shut while his hands claw impatiently at the couch cultivates a crooked grin. “Having some trouble?”
The teasing in my tone isn’t appreciated. “Fuck you.”
My hand increases with celerity, and he bites his bottom lip in objection. Despite his best efforts to maintain his control, Hudson thrusts his dick repeatedly into my grip, causing my hand to tap the base and brush his balls. Watching him struggle to prevent himself from coming only increases my efforts in assuring he does. Our strife for dominance over the situation is accompanied with groans behind gritted teeth and breaths begging to be grabbed.
Unable to keep his resistance, he whimpers his favorite word. “Fuck….”
Several hot spurts seer my hand, and I cease all of my movements. My eyes shamelessly soak in the sexual vision of his straining neck. His unsteady breathing. His fingers digging aggressively into the couch cushions. He groans, and I echo each one with fervor.
When he finally stops shaking, he rolls his head my direction and opens his eyes.
Regardless of having no other light than the glow of the T.V. I can still see the sated glaze. “We good?”
The question shocks me.
He cares. Like he really cares. About me. About my feelings with this whole situation and…what we’re doing not only with Gwen, but when we’re alone. Are we good? I mean, our…friendship or whatever it was we had, has without a doubt been irrevocably changed. But why does that have to be a bad thing? Clearly, we both want more. Hell, we both enjoy more. What’s wrong with letting shit just go where it naturally does if everyone is alright with it?
I offer him a smirk. “We’re really good.”
And it’s true. I’m starting to not only enjoy my life again, but those that are in it. This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time, and I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach, this is only the beginning.