Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) (41 page)

He shudders, clenches and shakes. I exhale, remembering to breathe. Wow. I can’t stop myself from smiling. My tail shivers against his stomach, like a conduit through which pleasure passes from him to me. Just a little, only an echo of what he’s feeling, but enough to make me giddy for a moment.

His muzzle comes to rest between my ears. His weight presses down. I feel his panting breaths on my head fur, his trembling afterglow down my back and inside me, where his cock spasms and then lies still. The joining there is a blur of heat and pleasure.

I stroke his wrist with my fingers. Seconds drag into minutes. He doesn’t move, not much. I don’t want to disturb him, but I’m dying to talk to him more. And of course, I’ve got my own need pressing into the mattress.

His arm remains around me, holding me. If he were angry, surely he’d roll over and walk away. Surely.

In the end, it’s a harder thing for me to be quiet for ten minutes than for me to let him physically dominate me. “Dev?” I say it quietly.

He exhales into my fur, by way of response. I rub my fingers along his wrist. “We’re gonna be okay,” I say.

I don’t mean it as a question, but it comes out that way, high on the last word. He exhales again, and speaks. “Don’t you ever go anywhere.”

I squirm, just a little. I weigh whether levity is appropriate. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

He shifts atop me, but doesn’t roll off. “Do you need to?”

“
No.”

Slowly, he pulls himself out of me. I take a breath as some of his weight rises from my back. “I don’t hate you.”

“
That’s good.” I roll onto my side. Our eyes meet. There’s a long, quiet moment where we just lie there, close, gold looking into blue. Then he leans forward, wincing slightly, and kisses the tip of my muzzle. I start to say something else, but he pushes me onto my back. One paw pins my chest down while the other cups my sheath and draws hard fingers up my erection.

“
You don’t—”

“
Hush.”

“
I can do it—”

“
Doc,” he says, and now I have no fucking idea how drunk he is or is not. He leans his massive body forward and takes the tip of my shaft between his lips. I shudder at the exquisite touch, the warmth and pressure, and I stare up at the ceiling. His paw holds me to the bed and his lips hold me in place, not moving, just staying there. I’m already hard, but the tension of anticipation swells my knot, until I can feel the blood pounding in it. My toes and tail twitch, my fingers dig into the bedsheets, and I want him to lower his muzzle and get to it. But I keep quiet. I can take the teasing a little longer. If that’s what it is.

He releases my shaft and sits back. I turn my head to look at him, without trying to resist his paw, but he’s not looking at me. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and the paw still gripping my shaft slides up and down.

“
It’s...ahh...okay...” I squirm as his strokes grow more insistent, the pads sliding easily over my skin even without lube, each stroke a burst of tingling pleasure in me.

He doesn’t respond, just keeps his paw moving in a nice, steady rhythm, and it doesn’t take much. Pressure pounds at my knot, surges of pleasure shake my tail and feet. I allow myself some moans, because it feels good, and hell, if anyone’s listening, they’ve already heard Dev for sure. I grab at his shoulder with one paw, gripping the muscle through his shirt, panting faster, moaning, and I feel it all crest and break as my hips jerk, climax shooting through me.

Warm splatters land on my chest and stomach. I buck upwards over and over. Dev keeps pumping, slowing and then stopping as I drop back to the bed, panting. He keeps his paw there, but lifts the one on my chest. His fingers trace my knot.

I don’t feel like getting up just yet. I do scooch closer to him on the bed, resting my head on the curl of his tail and looking up at the broad slope of his back. His fingers slide from my knot to my sac, down to my thighs, and back to rest on my knot. I slide my fingers from his shoulder down his side, catching in the cloth of his shirt.

Slowly, he unfastens his shirt with his other paw. The energy of sex has gone wherever those things go, out into heat and noise and the warm night air, leaving the room quiet and still. Outside, I can hear the drone of insects and traffic. Close to him, I can smell his anger and fear, even over the thick musky smell from my sticky fur. And as he removes his shirt, there’s a trace of something else, something medicinal that makes my whiskers shiver even before he pulls his shirt off and I see the brace around his chest.

I reach up, touch its smooth, warm surface just as he unbuckles it and tosses it to the floor. Below it, his fur is matted down. I run claws across the stripes, scratching lightly and lifting the fur. He lets out a long sigh and lets me.

“
Ribs?” I say softly.

He nods. I keep the caresses light. “You’ll be okay for next week?” He nods again.

I know we should shower, but he doesn’t seem to want to move any more than I do. The stillness is reassuring, but it also worries me. If his father really did make good on his threat to cut Dev out of the family, then how long will it take before resentment starts to creep in on us? Is this quiet moment something I should savor?

I savor every quiet moment I get with him. Our relationship is so tumultuous that any little island of peace is welcome.

My knot’s starting to go down. He curls his paw around it and slides his fingers all the way up my erection. I give him a satisfying jump. He turns, one golden eye catching mine. I think he’s smiling, just a little. His shoulder’s right at his mouth line and I can’t quite tell, but his eyes aren’t grim. I don’t stop scratching his back.

“
Wanna hop in the shower?” I say finally.

“
Mm.” His muzzle doesn’t move; his shoulder still hides his mouth. “Is it big enough?”

“
No.”

He gives my shaft a long, warm squeeze with his paw, and then sits up, holding his paw out in front of him. Damp streaks glisten on it, echoes of the dampness on my stomach. He looks down with both eyes, and he is smiling. Just a bit.

I drift on the edge of sleep while he showers. The post-orgasmic glow keeps me warm, though it’s not enough to dispel the worries about Dev and his family.
My dad hates me because of you
. I can dance around those words as much as I like, can point out that it’s his dad’s decision to act the way he is, but my broken paw cuts both ways. Yes, his father’s violent and over-reacting. But I pushed him, and though I wasn’t doing it to get this reaction—far from it—I was pushing for something, anything to resolve the problem. And now it’s resolved, and even though I wasn’t physically at the restaurant tonight, I can’t deny my part in what happened.

I scratch under my cast as far as I can reach, and then leave it alone. We’ll deal with those thoughts tomorrow. For now, I guess he got what he needed. He came to me, and stayed with me. He told me not to go anywhere. That glow outlasts any trifling climax.

The water stops. I sit up on the bed. Out he comes, stretching a towel across his shoulders, rubbing back and forth. The smells of wet fur and cheap shampoo drift across the room.

I stand, shaking my pants free from my ankles. He steps back against the door to let me into the bathroom. At the bathroom door, I pause to look up at him. He looks gravely back, then leans over to touch his nose to mine.

I shower quickly, keeping my tail dry and just washing under it and down my front. The shampoo leaves my fur feeling grainy and rough. It takes me a long time and two of their cheap towels to get from wet down to damp, and when I get back out into the room, Dev is sprawled out on one side of the bed, naked and asleep. So I shut my computer down and crawl into bed next to him. Our fur is that familiar damp that we’ve pressed together a hundred times, clean from the shower, only he’s not lying on his side, so I can’t really spoon. I lie next to him and rest my paw on his side. He hasn’t put his brace back on. That’s okay. I’ll help him with it tomorrow.

?

I forget about the brace and nearly trip over it getting out of bed in the morning. Dev’s still asleep, though he’s on his side now, facing the window. I hit the bathroom, decide it’s not worth putting on clothes yet, and sit down to my computer. I have some reports to finish up from the weekend, so I busy myself with those.

For a break, I check Dev’s e-mail. I delete the harangues and skim over the sympathy, encouragement, and nonsensical Internet messages. No more messages from gay college football players. There are a few, bland and guarded, from some other pro players. “Good for you.” “See you on the field,” which I pause over, wondering if it’s a subtle pickup line. I note the player’s name and move on.

As much as this outing has shaken both our private worlds, it remains to be seen what effect it will have in the world at large. No other gay players have come out. The flurry of articles has died down. His teammates have, more or less, come to grips with it. We still get letters from fans, still see comments in sports forums and gay forums, but the excitement has died down. All that’s left now is our private drama: our families and my job.

“
Anything good?” Dev rumbles, behind me.

I turn in the chair. He’s propped up on his elbow, his other paw lying on his ribcage. His eyes are clear in the dim light. “How’s your head?” I ask.

“
Sore.” He drops his eyes. “How’s your...?”

I shift on the seat. “Fine.” I try a smile. “Takes a lot more than that to leave me sore. Well,” I amend, when he raises an eyebrow, “maybe not a
lot
more. But I’m fine.”

His lips twitch. “Sorry,” he says.

“
You don’t have to—”

“
Everything’s such a mess.” He starts talking a second after I reply. “Don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“
I do. You’re going to play football.”

“
I mean, about—”

I lean forward in the chair. “I know what you mean,” I say softly. “You’re going to play football. Because you’re good at that, you can control it, you can help the team win.” Also, because maybe if he keeps playing well, that’ll win his father’s respect? I don’t know.

He nods, maybe thinking the same thing. Then he says, “But I don’t know what we’re going to do
today
.”

He’s still not smiling. I stare into his eyes and then slide off the chair, padding to stand by the bed. “Are you okay? You’re not more upset?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Like, what?”

“
I dunno. I would’ve expected you to be hitting or throwing things.”

“
Did that last night.” He growls, and presses a paw to his forehead. “That’s one thing we have to do today.”

“
What?”

“
I need a new phone.”

I laugh softly and sit down next to him. “Break it at the restaurant? Or throw it out the car window?”

“
Restaurant called me a taxi.” He closes his eyes. “Called Gregory. He was an ass. I threw the phone out the window.”

“
Why did you—”

“
Mom didn’t pick up.”

I place a paw on his thigh, just above his knee. “Okay. But first, we’re going to get you something for that hangover.”

“
Uh-huh.” He reaches out, resting a paw on my thigh. My upper thigh. An inch from my balls. “And then?”

I flick my ears forward. He’s erect, half out of his sheath. “You’re in the mood again? Already?”

His finger teases my sheath, stirring excitement there. “You’re not?”

I don’t want to break the mood—I can feel us heading toward another nice, hot, panting climax, this time maybe without the threat of me being suffocated—but I can’t keep the question in. “You don’t hate me?”

His finger stops. He frowns, looking up. “Because,” I say, “I know you’re thinking it. You said it.”

“
I said I hate you?” The frown deepens. “I don’t remember that.”

“
You said your father walked out because of me.”

His ears lift. “Oh. Well.” His finger starts stroking me again. “He did.”

“
So...”

“
Fox,” he says, “I don’t know if I have much of a family anymore. What kind of idiot would I be to walk away from the only person I do have left?”

Warmth bursts through me. I want to fall on him and hug him, but I just let the emotion stretch my mouth into a goofy smile. “You’ve got the team.”

“
I can’t fuck the team,” he says.

I lean forward. “Oh, you think you just fuck me, is that it?”

His eyes gleam. “Well, doc, what would you call it?”

“
I’d say I
let
you fuck me.”

“
You would, would you?” His paw closes around my sheath and protruding shaft.

I hold my ground. “I would.” The only advantage I have is that I’m kneeling over him. That, plus his hangover, but that’s not fair.

He purrs softly. “You figure out what to call it. I’ll just do it.” His paw squeezes.

I gasp. He’s all the way hard now, too. I reach down and grasp his shaft in return. “We still don’t have any lube.”

His grin shows white teeth in the dim room. “That a problem?” His thumb teases my tip, as his tongue curls out and over his lips, licking slowly, meaningfully.

I squirm and arch my back, closing my eyes. “Not for me.”