Tag Team (12 page)

In the seven years since a dark cloak had been thrown over his own world, he hadn’t met anyone who stirred something deep within him as Mason had. Sure, he and Bobby shared many subs and lovers, and to say his life hadn’t been fun and fulfilling these past few years would be a lie. Yet, there was always something missing, something incomplete and always just out of their grasp. He and Bobby knew what it was. While they loved each other without question, they were both nurturers, protectors, with an ingrown need to dominate. They knew their place within the other’s life, were comfortable being at each other’s side, but they were truly happy and fulfilled when they stood side by side with a boy at their feet between them.

The first couple of years after Stephen died, they had no desire to bring another man into their lives or even into their play. But as time went on, the pain of loss, he couldn’t really say it stopped hurting, perhaps became bearable was a better word. Eventually, he and Bobby began to enjoy some of the subs at the club, rare and sporadic at first, but with increasing frequency and need the last year or so. They were ready to find the missing part of the puzzle that was their lives.

Rig moved to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to view Mason as he kneeled next to a small flower bed near the porch, fussing with the plants, pulling out weeds. He was dressed in a pair of light-blue shorts, white tank top, and flip-flops. His lean muscles flexed and rolled as he worked. His tanned skin and the red highlights in his hair shone in the bright morning sunshine. Mason was a beautiful man, but above that, he seemed to be a good and kind man, as well as a little quiet and shy. Rig had reacted to Mason strongly from the beginning, and at first he’d thought it was simply his desire to help the distraught man, but now? Now as he stood watching Mason work, Mason’s face devoid of the deep frown that usually marred his brow, without the tight lines around his eyes and mouth, and without any immediate danger he had to protect Mason from, it hit Rig that he wanted Mason as that last piece to complete the puzzle.

There was a certain strength of spirit in Mason, a strong resolve to put his feet on the floor each morning, pull his tired body from his bed, start his day, and take it one footstep, one action at a time. He had the fortitude that allowed the man to rise above the heartbreak and anguish and keep going. Keep living. Rig was a patient man; he’d wait however long it took, but he wanted this man. He wanted him in his life and in his bed. For the first time in a very, very long time he wanted a relationship with someone, besides Bobby, for more than just sex.

“He’s improving every day,” Max said quietly, coming up to stand next to Rig.

Rig released the curtain and stepped away from the window. “It would appear so. I was just going to pour me another cup of coffee. Would you like some?”

“Sure.”

Max followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Rig pulled another mug from the cupboard, poured them each a cup, and handed one to Max. “What time do we need to leave for the airport?”

After a week of daily counseling sessions with Mason, Max was convinced that Mason was on the right track towards healing. Mason had also agreed to continue therapy sessions with Max via internet chat until he could find a local therapist Mason was comfortable talking with about his grief and social anxiety disorder. Rig and Bobby were staying. In fact they had extended their rental by a month. With the sale of the club to Blake and Ty, there was nothing pressing they needed to return to New York for.

“Three,” Max said and then blew into the mug before taking a tentative sip.

“Mason seemed a little edgy when you told him you were leaving. You sure he’s not going to relapse?” Rig asked. A small sliver of unease caused his hand to shake ever so slightly, and he clamped down on it, forcing himself to calm.

“Like I said before, nothing is guaranteed. Grieving is a personal and highly individual experience, and it takes time. Healing happens gradually. It can’t be forced or hurried—and there is no
normal
timetable for grieving. Mason may start to feel better in weeks or months or it could be years.” Max gave Rig a warm smile. “I know you’re worried about him, and I can hear your gears spinning from here. My only advice is be patient, be his friend, and just let the process of his grief unfold naturally and in his own time.”

“Possibly years, huh?” Rig asked with a sigh.

“Yes, my friend, years. You know,” Max said seriously meeting Rig’s eyes. “He may not be who you hope he is once he heals. Right now he’s a mess, and if I know you, and I think I do after all these years, you want to fix him, to take away his pain and grief and mend his broken heart. He is the epitome of the underdog you are drawn to.”

Rig started to open his mouth to protest. To tell Max that it was more than that. A feeling in his gut and his instincts were rarely wrong. But Max stopped him with a wave of his hand and a knowing look, and Rig snapped his mouth shut.

“I’m not saying your instincts are wrong,” Max continued. “All I’m saying is that right now, Mason’s needs outweigh yours and Bobby’s. I do want you to find the right man for you and Bobby. You both deserve to be happy, and I know you will make some lucky sub very, very happy. One day. However, don’t put all your hope in Mason just yet. He has a long way to go to heal, and he may not ever want to accept a new, or rather two, new masters.”

Even as Max spoke the words, Rig knew they were true. Intellectually he knew this. He was a smart man; he understood that flights of fancy and love at first sight were simply fairy tales. Logically, one simply did not start making forever plans and spouting words of undying love after only a week. It was ridiculous. Rig’s gut and heart, however, were having no part of logic, intellect, or reason. They insisted Rig could help to heal Mason. They had no doubt in Mason and were sure Rig could make Mason whole again.

“I know,” Rig finally muttered.

“Mmm hmm.” The small sound was disbelieving.

Rig took another gulp of his coffee, wincing as it burned his tongue and throat. “So tell me what Bobby and I should be watching for.” He set his mug down on the countertop and leaned back on his hands.

“We already talked about the shock and disbelief, sadness, guilt, anger, fear, but grief often involves physical problems. Give me a call if you see an increase in fatigue, nausea, if he refuses to eat, or if you notice he’s losing more weight. Grief also hurts, like aches and pains kind of hurt. So offer to rub his shoulder and back. Another thing is when you’re just sitting chatting, massage his hands, touch his arm, and just let him know you’re there for him.”

Rig listened, concentrated on each word, and made mental notes. He also had access to pamphlets Max had given them, some great internet sites on coping with grief, and Max was only a phone call away. He was confident he had plenty of resources available if he ran into a problem.

“Oh and eat your Wheaties,” Max ordered him with a smile.

“Huh?” he asked confused, trying to switch gears.

“Insomnia can be a bitch,” Max said with a wink.

“Ooh, that coffee smells good,” Mason said as he came through the front door.

“Thank you,” Rig whispered to Max, who nodded, and then called out to Mason. “Just made a pot. Would you like a cup?”

“Mmm, no thank you. But I’d love a cup of tea.” Mason stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, his expression still relaxed as it had been while he’d been pulling weeds. A shy grin curled his lips as he held up his dirt-covered hands. “I’m going to go shower. If you made it now, I’d really appreciate it.”

There was a large brown smudge across Mason’s forehead, another smaller one on his right cheek, and Rig couldn’t help but chuckle and return the smile. “Sure.”

Mason hesitated and frowned. “Where’s Bobby? I thought he was coming over this morning.”

“He had to run into town for a few supplies.” Rig glanced down at his watch. “He should be here any time now.”

Mason’s smile returned. “Cool.” He turned and was gone.

Rig watched him go and continued to stare after Mason had disappeared. A warm rush moved through Rig, a direct effect of that shy smile on the younger man’s face. A few minutes later Rig heard the water come on, and his thoughts drifted to places they shouldn’t go.
Mason’s needs outweigh yours and Bobby’s
.

“Damn.”

Max’s voice pulled Rig from his musings. “What?”

“You, my friend, have it bad,” Max chuckled and shook his head.

“Shut up. I simply admire the young man for his strength and courage,” Rig muttered and turned to add more coffee to his cup, although it was still close to full, simply to avoid Max’s knowing gaze.

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s sweet, shy, and absolutely adorable, I’m sure,” Max said smugly.

“Nothing at all,” Rig answered, starting a pot of water for Mason’s tea, effectively hiding his smile.

“Hey, Rig or Max,” Mason yelled from the bathroom. “I’m out of shampoo. Could one of you grab a bottle out of the hall closet?”

“I’ll get it,” Max said and started to take a step.

“The hell you will,” Rig growled and turned to glare at the cheeky bastard.

“Nothing at all,” Max echoed with an innocent smile.

“Shouldn’t you be packing or something?” Rig tossed over his shoulder as he headed toward the hall. The sound of Max’s boisterous laughter followed him all the way.

Rig gasped when he opened the linen closet door in the hall. He’d grabbed a towel out of the nearly empty closet a couple of days ago, and now not only was it stocked full of bottles of shampoo, mouthwash, soap, toothpaste, deodorant, and all the other things a man would need to take care of his daily hygiene needs, everything was stacked in perfect rows, reminding Rig of the neat shelves at the drug store. Rig was pretty sure Mason hadn’t left his home in the last week, unless he was making midnight runs after Rig and Bobby had returned to their bungalow at night. Perhaps he had it stashed somewhere or he’d received a delivery without Rig being aware. However, Mason had obtained it, and Rig knew for a fact that the young man was nothing if he wasn’t anal.

Rig snatched a bottle of shampoo labeled Tea Tree Lavender Mint, popped open the top, and inhaled deeply. The aroma one he now associated with Mason caused a tingling sensation to race down his spine and warmth to infuse his groin. He’d always thought of flowers and girls when seeing anything made of lavender, but when added to mint and the tea tree, it had a very earthy, masculine smell
. A perfect scent for Mason
.

“Is someone going to bring me some shampoo? Please,” Mason called out, his voice muffled by the sound of rushing water.

“Coming!” Rig called out and shut the closet door.

The steam was thick in the large room, making it difficult for Rig to make out Mason’s form behind the white shower curtain. It was probably just as well… or maybe it would have been better if he could get a glimpse of Mason while he showered. Give him something to fuel his fantasies at night.

Christ, he was a sick bastard. Shaking his head in disgust, Rig set the shampoo on the corner of the bench where the curtain wasn’t quite pulled all the way across, keeping his eyes low. “There you go.”

“Rig?”

“It’s on the corner of the bench,” Rig told him, already stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He leaned against the door and squeezed his eyes shut as he heard Mason say thanks.
Mason’s needs outweigh yours and Bobby’s
.
Mason’s needs outweigh yours and Bobby’s
, Rig repeated over and over and over in his head. But just like his gut and heart weren’t listening to his head, his aching dick had no desire to listen to it either.

“Bobby is so fucking bottoming tonight,” he grumbled under his breath, pushed himself off the door, and uncomfortably made his way back to the kitchen.

Chapter 11

I
T
’
S
strange how quickly one can become dependent on another person. As Mason watched Max and Rig pull out of the drive, the force of how quickly and how completely he’d become dependent on Max hit him hard. As he stood in his driveway and waved good-bye, he felt lost. Max was only a phone call away; one click on the bookmarked icon on his laptop and he was in a web chat, but he was still nervous. Max seemed to have an unwavering belief that he could help Mason with his fear of going out in public. Mason didn’t share Max’s conviction.

He’d always been a shy kid, never wanting to draw any attention to himself. Probably due to the fact that at a very young age he’d known he was different than all the other boys, and having his feelings in fact confirmed to be unnatural and an abomination by his family and church, his need to keep others from noticing him grew to an obsession by the time he was twelve. Later he would learn how smart he was to keep to himself and his thoughts locked firmly within his head. His family and church turned their backs on him when they learned his secret, but that wasn’t the problem anymore. The real problem was he had zero social skills. It no longer had anything to do with being gay. He was comfortable with his sexuality. It was simply, strangers freaked him the fuck out. He’d start worrying about what he should and shouldn’t say, how he was supposed to behave. Did he look okay? Did his breath stink? Should he meet other people’s eyes to show he was paying attention or not, or was it misconstrued as a challenge or rude by staring? All of this internal dialogue would happen within a blink of an eye, overwhelm him at how rapidly the questions were being fired at him, and BAM, panic attack.