Play On: A Glasgow Lads Novella (17 page)

“Then it’s unanimous.” Brodie pulled him close, drawing up his knees for Duncan to lean back against. Then he ran his hands over the lean, defined muscles of Duncan’s chest. “Seeing you like this, up close, sober…” He reached up to caress Duncan’s jaw, finding a hidden spot of stubble where he’d missed shaving. He wished they could kiss, but in this position, Duncan would need to practically bend in half.

Duncan went one better—he took Brodie’s left hand and slipped the middle two fingers into his mouth. Brodie groaned at the sight, and at the feel of that tongue darting over, under, and between his fingers. His cock twitched inside Duncan.

Duncan moaned. “Fuck, I need you. Now.” He grasped Brodie’s hand, interlacing their fingers, and put his other hand on Brodie’s knee, hoisting himself so he could plant his feet on the mattress.

Then he began, stroking Brodie with his arse again and again. As a flood of hot, electric pressure rushed up and down Brodie’s spine, he marveled at the coiled power of Duncan’s flexing thighs.

Duncan rode faster and faster, panting with need, his erect cock slapping Brodie’s belly with each bounce. As swept up as he was in the wave of sensations, Brodie noticed Duncan’s look of delight changing to one of intense focus.

Is that supposed to happen? Is he close to coming? Is he getting further away from coming? Should I do something to, I don’t know, help?

Instinctively he shifted his hips, thrusting up as Duncan came down.

“Och!” Duncan froze, eyes bulging. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” Brodie felt a complete idiot. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he replied, too quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting it.” He gave Brodie a fleeting smile. “Nae bother. You can stay still and let me do everything.”

“Okay, but…”

“But what?” Duncan dipped his head to examine Brodie’s face. “Is it all right? Does it feel good for you?”

He looked so concerned, Brodie wanted to simply say yes and get back to it. But he could sense himself starting to soften from the anxiety. He couldn’t let Duncan down.

“It did feel good. At first. It was great. But now—I don’t know, maybe it’s the position?”

“Yes!” Duncan looked relieved. “Anything gets awkward after a wee while.” He glanced at the bed. “You could lie flat on your back.”

“Aye.” Brodie mustered the courage to ask for what he wanted. “Or you could.”

Duncan stared down at him, his expression unreadable. “Are you sure you’ve got the energy?”

Brodie reached up and cupped Duncan’s jaw again. “I promise you, I’ve more energy now than ever in my life.”

A slow smile spread across Duncan’s face. “All right, then.” He carefully raised himself, then lay back, lacing his hands behind his head. “On you go, lad.”

The sight of Duncan’s body and face, so open, so eager, and the sound of his voice, so inviting, sent a much-needed rush of blood to Brodie’s cock. He could do this. He would do this.

Somehow.

D
UNCAN
HOPED
HE
looked more confident than he felt. This was his first time with a first timer, and after the way Brodie had jabbed him a minute ago—Duncan had felt the shockwaves up his entire spine—he worried things would go pear-shaped here. But he resolved that no matter how nervous he was, he wouldn’t laugh, and no matter how poorly tonight went, this wouldn’t be their last time.

Brodie checked that the condom was secure, then added a bit more lubricant before turning back to him. “Well, here goes.”

Hooking his hands behind his own legs, Duncan lifted and spread his thighs. Brodie’s eyes widened at the sight, but he said nothing more, only maneuvered himself into position on his knees. Duncan reminded himself to breathe and relax, preparing for any awkward angles that might arise from Brodie’s inexperience.

But Brodie was careful and slow, and soon they were fully joined again, easy as anything.

“I did it!” Brodie wore a look of pure delight as he bent over, coming to rest on Duncan’s chest. “And look, I can kiss you now.”

“You’d better.”

They kissed for a long time, savoring tongues, nibbling lips. Duncan caressed Brodie’s long, lean back, feeling the muscles flex as he moved slowly within him. He’d never felt this close to anyone.

I could fall so hard in love with him.

Brodie’s lips reached Duncan’s neck, then his ear, making him shiver. Duncan dragged his hands down to Brodie’s arse, clutching it tight and bringing him deeper inside.

Brodie groaned, and Duncan felt him stiffen further. He wanted to ask for more, but worried Brodie lacked the energy. What if he passed out in the middle of sex, or suffered another relapse tomorrow?

But Brodie rose up, planting his hands on Duncan’s shoulders. Then he tilted his hips forward, only once, but the new angle seemed to hit a switch inside Duncan, cranking his pleasure up to a new level.

“Ohhhh.” He grasped Brodie’s arms, and as he slid his hands up over the taut limbs, he remembered what he’d promised earlier tonight, that he would make Brodie feel strong. He had to have faith in that strength now.

“How is it?” Brodie asked, doing
it
again.

“Good. So good.” Duncan heard himself whimper. “More. Give me more. Please…”

“Aye.” Brodie picked up the pace, unsteady at first. But then he found his rhythm, offering short, swift strokes, then switching to deep, slow ones, until Duncan’s entire body was pulsing, until every breath was a moan. Through the haze, he saw Brodie watching him with unguarded fire. Every shred of fear had vanished.

Finally Brodie sat back on his knees, seizing Duncan’s thighs and spreading them wide, giving himself complete control and the deepest access yet.

“Yes,” Duncan hissed. “Fuck me. As hard as you want. As hard as you can.”

Panting but smiling, Brodie grasped Duncan’s hips with both hands and began. Immediately Duncan knew this was what he needed. This deep, intense pounding, his body at the mercy of this brave, beautiful lad, would send him over the edge.

With one hand he clutched the side of the bed, and with the other he stroked himself in time with Brodie’s thrusts. His voice pitched higher and louder, but beneath his own cries he could hear Brodie’s whispers of encouragement and awe.

“Och, you’re so…” Then there were some words Duncan couldn’t understand, followed by, “Come for me. Come for me now.”

It did feel like he was coming for Brodie, like this moment was a gift for them both. So he kept his eyes opened and their gazes locked, though the orgasm threatened to blind him as it burst through his brain and body. Every muscle shuddered and spasmed with his release.

“I can feel it,” Brodie said. “I can—och, I’m—” He rocked forward, fingers digging into Duncan’s glutes. His eyes closed for a long moment, then flew open. The helpless, poignant look within was like that of a film character who’s just been shot. Duncan knew he’d never forget the sight, even if he lived to be a hundred and twenty-four.

Later, as they held each other in the darkness, warm beneath the covers despite the night’s chill and their own nakedness, Brodie spoke his name in a sleep-slurred voice.

Duncan’s eyelids twitched but didn’t part. “Hmm?”

After a few breaths, as his body grew heavier in Duncan’s arms, Brodie said, “I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“Everything.” He stretched his legs, then twined them with Duncan’s, feet stroking his calves. “Almost everything.”

Duncan didn’t ask him to explain. He didn’t need to. Instead he simply said, “Me, too.”

The time for recriminations and apologies was over. It was time to move forward. Time to play on.

D
UNCAN
KNEW
HE
should feel complete crap as he walked into the North Glasgow park where his team was about to play their final match of the season. After all, he could do nothing but watch as the Warriors attempted to stave off a fifth-place finish, having already lost their chance to win promotion to the top division, due in part to his own immaturity.

But as long as Brodie was at his side, Duncan could only feel happy. In the two weeks since they’d reunited, they’d spent almost every moment together. Brodie was now nearly recovered from his glandular fever, despite their nightly exertions in bed (or maybe because of them).

Duncan’s parents had hired both him and Brodie to work in the home-decor shop. The jobs weren’t relevant to their psychology degrees, and Duncan dreaded being dubbed an “adorable couple” by their customers. But at least he and Brodie would be together most days, and the wages were decent—in the current economy, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Brodie had also begun helping the asylum-seekers’ charity John Burns was interning with; and Duncan would be serving as a “Clyde-sider” volunteer at Glasgow’s Commonwealth Games in July. Perhaps there’d be athletes needing counseling after their dreams of winning a gold medal had been dashed or fulfilled.

To top it all off, Duncan’s heroes at Sunderland AFC had pulled off a miraculous end-of-season comeback. In what had been dubbed “The Great Escape,” the once-hapless Black Cats had rocketed from twentieth place into fourteenth, avoiding relegation and ensuring another season in the Premier League. To Duncan it was proof that romantics like himself were the wisest men of all.

He squinted up at the afternoon sky, where the clouds were thinning at last. “They said it’d be pure dreich today, but look, the sun’s—” He stopped as he realized Brodie had halted several steps ago, his eyes fixed on the side of the bleachers where the opposing fans sat.

Duncan hurried back to join him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, though he had a solid guess.

“I just need a moment.” Brodie ran his thumbs between each of his fingers once, then again. “Okay.” He took a step forward.

Duncan touched his shoulder to stop him. “You sure? We don’t need to go to the match. We can do something else today.”

“If I don’t walk in there now, I’ll spend the whole summer dreading next season.” He swept his tongue, then his teeth, over his lower lip, and swallowed hard. “Is it all right if I take your hand?”

Duncan smiled. “I’d be honored.”

They walked forward between the two bleachers. On their left, their opponents’ scant crowd of supporters sat with scowls on their faces. To their right, the Rainbow Regiment’s flags were waving, their chants ringing. Duncan was touched by the way the Regiment always turned out, no matter how unimportant the match. The pain of his own suspension had been eased by sitting with these fans the last two weeks. He’d learned a lot about the game—and how much the Warriors meant to Glasgow’s LGBT community—by watching it through the Regiment’s eyes.

As he and Brodie went to join them, a voice in the visitors’ section rang out. “Look at those yins holding hands. Fuckin’ poofs!”

They stopped together. Adrenaline coursed through Duncan’s body, and his grip on Brodie tightened.

“I’ll take this one.” Brodie tried to release Duncan’s hand as he strode toward the man who’d spoken.

But Duncan wouldn’t let go. “What are you doing?” he whispered to Brodie, trotting to keep up. “You can’t fight them.”

“I don’t need to. Now wheesht.” As Brodie approached their taunter, an almost stony calm dropped over his face.

“What do youse want?” the burly young man snarled. He nudged his embarrassed-looking mate. “Kyle, they’re chattin’ us up. I knew we shouldnae come to this—”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Brodie said.

The man’s head snapped back as if he’d been punched. Duncan’s pulse raced at the sight of the muscles bulging beneath the bully’s sleeveless T-shirt. He could take both of them apart in seconds.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Brodie repeated, his jaw firm and level. “But I am afraid
for
you. I fear you’ll stay this way your entire life, which means you’ll surround yourself with other people like you, which means you’ll never be happy.”

The man’s eyes blazed. “Look, ya wee bufty, naebody asked you—”

“You can change, you know,” Brodie said. “You can stop being afraid. I did.”

Duncan squeezed Brodie’s hand tighter, which he hadn’t thought possible.

Then Brodie stepped forward, halving the distance between himself and the bigot. “You can hit me now if you want, if what I’m saying scares you. I’ll understand.”

“But you’ll have to hit us both.” Duncan moved beside Brodie again, close enough to feel him quake.

“Archie, man,” said Kyle. “Gonnae let’s go for a pint? ’Mon, I’ll buy first round—first
two
rounds, since I owe you.” He nudged his mate. “It’ll be pishing down soon.”

Archie finally broke eye contact with Brodie to examine the sky, which was still clearing. Then he nodded, using the nonexistent impending rain to make his exit.

“Bunch of pricks playing today anyway,” Archie said as he got to his feet. Brodie and Duncan moved back to let them leave. As the two men slouched past, Kyle turned and gave an apologetic shrug.

When they were gone, Brodie whooshed out a breath and slumped against the side of the home bleacher. “What was I thinking?” He swept his trembling hands up over his paling face, then clutched his hair. “He could’ve killed us.”

“You were thinking you deserved better, and you do. We all do. That was so fucking brave.” Duncan edged as close as he could without touching him. “I love you,” he said for the first time.

Brodie gasped. He lowered his hands slowly, and they came to rest on the sides of Duncan’s face, their fear-chilled skin making him shiver. “Why?”

“Because.” When Brodie just stared at him, he added, “Don’t make me elaborate. After exams, I’m pure finished with essays and explanations.” He rested his forehead against Brodie’s. “Just believe me, okay? And try to love me back, even though I’m a proper eejit sometimes?”

Brodie nodded, his eyes wide and wet. “I believe you. And I love you.” He pulled Duncan into a hug. Duncan shut his eyes and held tight, feeling the frantic-rabbit thump of his own heart against Brodie’s chest.