Play On: A Glasgow Lads Novella (9 page)

Brodie’s spine went rigid. He gave Duncan a look of pure horror, like he’d suddenly seen him for a serial killer.

“What’s wrong?” Duncan asked, his heart thumping with worry as much as excitement.

“That night before vacation. When we were drunk.” Brodie pulled his own arm back into his chest, folding into himself. “You laughed at me.”

Shit.
It was just as he’d feared. “No, I was laughing at myself, and at the situation. I was never laughing at you.” He touched Brodie’s cheek, his own face flaming with shame. “Is that why you ran away that night?”

“Of course. I was humiliated.”

“Brodie…” He kissed him softly. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. And I wish we’d not been so hammered.”

“Me too.” Brodie relaxed a bit. “Then again, if it weren’t for Lorna’s mad drink recipe, we might not’ve hooked up at all. I never would’ve had the courage to touch you sober.”

“Oh, that’d make a lovely public service announcement for the weans. ‘Hey, kids, got someone you fancy but too scared to say so? A wee dram will get your happy-ever-after, or at least a sloppy shag. So get it doon ye!’”

Brodie’s laugh faded into a dreamy smile. He pulled his left arm up to rest his head upon it, then used that hand to stroke Duncan’s hair. “Did you fancy me, then? Before Oblivionator?”

“Honestly?” Duncan paused, just to see relief replace the anxiety in Brodie’s eyes when he added, “Aye, I did.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t think you liked me, though. You hate football and you think athletes are stupid.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. I could tell by the way you talked to me in study group.”

Brodie frowned. “I’m sorry. If we’re being honest, then you’re right—I didn’t truly like you until this week. I didn’t know you were so clever, or so kind. I didn’t so much fancy you as
want
you.” His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t
want
to want you, because aye, I hate footballers, but I couldn’t stop picturing you naked. Worst of all, I pictured
us
naked together and imagined how inferior I would look next to you.”

“Inferior? Are you mad? You’re b—” The word stuck in his throat. It sounded too romantic, too extreme, too
much
.

“What, ‘bonnie’?” Brodie said sharply. “Like a wee lassie?”

He had to say it now. “No, you’re beautiful. Like a man.”

Brodie’s hand went still on Duncan’s head. He stared at him for a moment, then looked at the wall, blinking rapidly. “I’ve never heard that before. I’ve never really felt like a man.”

“You felt like a woman?”

Brodie shoved his shoulder. “No, ya tumshie. I feel like a boy. I’m eighteen and sometimes I still feel fourteen. Being a virgin doesn’t help.” He rubbed his nose. “By the way, I’m a virgin. Apparently I just admitted that.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Still, Duncan was curious. “What about you and your boyfriend?”

“Geoffrey? We did lots of things, but we never, you know.” Brodie smoothed a wrinkle in the red pillowcase between them. “I think Geoffrey believed that way he wouldn’t truly be gay. Hand jobs and blow jobs and all, that’s just mates having a bit of fun. A way to kill a Friday night in the most boring place on earth.”

“What about since you’ve come to Glasgow? You’ve not exactly been a priest your first year at uni.”

“True, I’ve had some good times.” Spots of pink appeared on Brodie’s cheeks. “I guess by now, I’ve decided to wait for the right loon—the right lad, I mean.”

“Don’t correct yourself. I like when you speak Doric.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not.”

“I know, but—it’s become a habit, fitting in to avoid mockery.”

“Story of our lives, aye?”

“Aye.” Brodie smiled, but then his lips turned soft and serious as his fingers tightened on Duncan’s hair. “Can we stop talking now?”

L
YING
IN
THE
dark that night, listening to Duncan’s deep, steady sleep breath, Brodie knew he’d found the right loon. With Duncan, Brodie felt more at ease, more unguarded, more
himself
than he had with anyone since Geoffrey.

Still, there’d been a certain cozy luxury about their day together, knowing that all this touching wouldn’t lead to sex just yet. They could savor the simple warmth of contact, indulge in long snogging sessions until their lips went sore. Brodie didn’t mind wanting more than he had the strength to do right now, knowing that one day, he would have it.

He let his imagination take him there—or rather
here
, in this bed—picturing their naked, sweat-slick bodies moving in perfect sync. He imagined how Duncan would feel inside him, and how he would feel inside Duncan.

Then he wondered if the latter were even an option. If Duncan was like most macho gay athletes, he might think getting fucked was for sissies. He seemed so proud that his team played in a “regular” football league instead of an LGBT one, and he’d shown such disdain for
River City
’s effeminate hairdresser, Robbie. Brodie had been kidding when he’d called Duncan “straight-acting,” but like most jokes, it held a kernel of truth.

Stretching his legs with pent-up frustration, Brodie noticed Duncan’s sleep was growing restless behind him. Perhaps he was dreaming of the same thing Brodie was imagining.

A sudden kick to his calf dispelled that illusion.

“Ow. Fit’s a dee?” Brodie asked as he turned over. “What’s wrong?”

Duncan rolled from his stomach onto his side, now facing Brodie but lying farther away, taking most of the covers. His eyes shifted behind his closed lids.

Then Duncan’s lips parted as he drew in a short, utterly adorable gasp, which turned into a guffaw. The sound of Duncan’s laughter, which had once cut Brodie to the bone, now made him feel like he was inside some protective inner circle.

Brodie turned back to face the wall, tugging the sheet and duvet. As he pulled the covers forward, Duncan came with them. He pressed close behind Brodie, one arm drifting over his waist.

This was exactly how they’d lain together last night. But tonight, everything was different. For one thing, Brodie wasn’t too tired to appreciate the insistent hardness pressing against him. For another, he wasn’t too tired to do something about it.

He arched his back and met Duncan’s cock with his arse, then eased slowly up and down, feeling the long, stiff shaft slide along the base of his tingling spine.

With a harsh sigh of desire, Duncan responded, moving against him. Whether he was awake or asleep, Brodie couldn’t tell. He didn’t much care, so filled he was with the thrill of being wanted.

Duncan’s breath grew more ragged, and his thrusts more urgent. His left thigh curled forward over Brodie’s, and together with his arm it held him tight in a double embrace.

Then suddenly he stopped. “Oh God,” he said, clear and loud, obviously awake now. “I’m sorry.”

“Dinna be.” Brodie reached back, held Duncan firmly against him, then ground harder then ever.

“Fuck…” Duncan clutched him close, hips jerking, breath hissing through his teeth as he pressed his mouth to Brodie’s hair. Brodie met his movements, reveling in the frantic, irrepressible desire between them.

Suddenly Duncan’s body went rigid, legs locked, until the paralysis gave way to shudders that rose and rose and rose before finally ebbing. Then, after a long exhale, he said, “I am so sorry. That was not planned, I swear.”

“Stop apologizing. It was hot.”

“You’re joking.”

Brodie took Duncan’s hand and shifted it lower. “Does this feel like a joke?”

“Oh,” Duncan breathed as he discovered Brodie’s solid, swollen cock. He began to stroke him through his pajama trousers, slow and steady. “No, it feels pure serious.”

“Seriously amazing,” Brodie said with a sigh, moving to meet the warm, firm caresses.

Duncan kissed his ear. “Can I suck you?”

Brodie shivered at those words, whispered with such pleading, as if Duncan were the one who wanted it more. “Aye,” he said, turning onto his back.

Instead of merely tugging Brodie’s trousers and briefs off his hips, Duncan removed them entirely. Naked from the waist down, Brodie felt exposed and vulnerable, yet strangely powerful.

Duncan bent over and pushed Brodie’s shirt up a few inches, then kissed a slow circle around his navel. Brodie felt himself relax, which made him realize, only now, that he was nervous. Duncan must have sensed it, for he was moving slowly, his palm caressing the side of Brodie’s hip as his mouth drifted lower, lower.

Duncan turned Brodie to lie on his left side. “Here, now I can use both hands. Also my neck won’t get stiff, so I can make it last longer.”

His pulse throbbing in his—well,
everything
—Brodie could only nod.

A moment later, Duncan began, with one long, slow, wet stroke of his tongue, from the base of Brodie’s shaft up to the tip. Brodie groaned, then slid a hand beneath his pillow, knowing he’d need to muffle his cries if the rest of this felt anything like the first moments.

The second stroke of Duncan’s tongue ended with a teasing swirl over the head of Brodie’s cock, which jerked in response, begging for more. And the third stroke…

The third stroke.
God.

The third stroke began at the same place, but instead of traveling upward, Duncan’s tongue went lower, caressing Brodie’s balls.

Brodie pressed the pillow to his mouth and let it absorb the incoherent noises that came from his throat as Duncan continued, worshiping every inch. Brodie’s other hand reached down to stroke the soft, short strands of Duncan’s hair.

If only the room weren’t so dark. He would’ve given anything to see Duncan’s strong, wet lips as they wrapped eagerly around the head of his cock, as they stretched wide to take him all the way in.

Duncan didn’t hurry to make him come, but rather seemed to back off whenever Brodie got close. Brodie had read somewhere that each time one
almost
came, then didn’t, it made the eventual release that much more intense. He hoped he could take it without completely combusting.

Duncan grasped Brodie’s arse, pulling forward to sink him deep into his throat. Groaning, Brodie tightened his grip on Duncan’s hair.

Then Duncan’s fingertips slid between his cheeks. Brodie went still as he realized where he meant to touch him. Duncan hesitated too, as if silently asking
Is it okay?

“Aye,” Brodie managed to choke out. “Please.”

Duncan proceeded, his mouth slowing its strokes of Brodie’s shaft, his finger circling the place Brodie had never been touched.

And when he did, with the lightest of tickles, it felt like the rightest touch in the world. Brodie’s moan escalated to a strangled, desperate cry as the electric sensation shot through him. Every muscle seemed to tremble at once, and he knew this time there was no turning back.

“I’m gonnae come,” he gasped.

Duncan didn’t pull away like most did. Maybe he hadn’t heard him.

Brodie pushed Duncan’s mouth off of him. “I said I’m coming.”

“I know. I want to taste you. I want to swallow you.” He paused. “If that’s all right.”

Brodie almost laughed. “Sounds affa fine.”

“Sorry?”

“Aye! Do it. Please.”

Wasting not a moment, Duncan took him in his mouth again. Brodie clung to the edge of the mattress, rocking his hips, shuddering as Duncan’s fingertip stroked the outside of his hole. Then every muscle clenched, for what seemed an eternity. Just as he thought he would snap like a rubber band, his orgasm swept over him in a wave that nearly knocked him senseless.

When he could finally move again, Brodie rolled onto his back, limp and trembling.

Duncan gave a satisfied sigh as he sat up. “Fit like?”

Brodie laughed with what little breath he had, at hearing his own Doric phrase spoken back to him in a Glaswegian accent. “I’m good, ta. Fair good.”

“Cool. Now I need to go and change, thanks to your hot self.” He leaned over and kissed Brodie’s knee.

“Are you coming back?”

“Are you kidding?” Duncan tossed Brodie’s trousers at him. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me from your bed.”

= = =

In a euphoric haze, Brodie pulled his pajama trousers back on, relegating his briefs to the laundry hamper—and not bothering with a new pair—before collapsing into bed again. He stared at the ceiling, unable to form thoughts beyond
Och
and
Wow.

Duncan returned momentarily, using his phone screen to light his way through the room. The faint bluish glow illuminated his face, which held a contented smile.

He slipped beneath the covers, pressed a warm shoulder against Brodie’s, then took his hand. “I probably should’ve mentioned a rarely discussed symptom of glandular fever. For a brief window in the middle of the second phase, which would be about…now, one becomes irrepressibly wicked.”

“How does one treat this symptom?”

“That’s the thing, see. If one indulges this wickedness, it becomes a permanent state. There’s no known cure. Sorry.”

Brodie tried to smile, but he felt suddenly swept with guilt, remembering the lie he’d been telling all week. If he’d confessed to Duncan days ago, they might not be here now.

“You didn’t give me that virus,” Brodie said. “My symptoms started a week after we kissed, but the incubation period is more than a month.” When Duncan said nothing, Brodie continued, speaking faster and faster. “I looked it up on Tuesday. I should’ve said something then, but I—I thought you were caring for me out of guilt, and that you’d leave if you knew the truth. It wasn’t that I wanted free meals, though I did appreciate them. I just really fancied having you here. I loved it, in fact.” He squeezed Duncan’s hand, fearing it was the last time he’d hold it. “I’m sorry for being a manipulative prick. You were never the culprit. You didn’t infect me.”

Duncan stayed silent for a few more heart-pounding, breath-stealing moments. Then he turned his head to Brodie. “I know.”

Brodie was confused. “Know what?”

“I know about the incubation period. I looked it up too, on Monday.”