Play It Again, Charlie (52 page)

Will's ideas about how to spend the morning had been clear, and Charlie had been crawling back into Grayson's bed before he'd realized what he was doing. He'd recovered enough to offer what he felt had been mild objections, but it had still been difficult to talk Will out of everything; there was something so
charming
about the way he pouted. He seemed to want Charlie so much.

“You do want to be able to walk today, don't you?” The memory of his own question and Will's hands, once again with the straps on Grayson's headboard tight around them as Will had pleaded with him for more, still made Charlie hot.

He couldn't quite believe that Will had wanted it from him, much less that Will had been able to answer in a teasing tone with his hands on Will's ass and Will gasping into a pillow.

“Walking is overrated.” Charlie had barely been able to speak after that, grunting as he'd settled over Will, and Will had laughed,
laughed
, amused and happy for a second before he'd moaned in response to the light spank Charlie gave him.

“Well, I can't carry you,” Charlie had reminded him, blushing though his heart had already been beating faster. Will's laugh that time had been achy.

“That's it, punish me for my sass.”

The memory still made his cheeks warm several days later. It didn't help when his phone would buzz with another text from Will about how naughty he was, or about Will's current inability to sit— which had only happened after that first night, and Will had asked for... everything.

Today's texting, in which Charlie had been referred as “Spankdaddy” three times, had actually seemed semireasonable. They were a bright spot in an otherwise exhausting few days, as humiliating as they would have been if anyone else had read them.

Jeanine had tried. Charlie was just grateful she'd also been too busy to bother him. They'd only had time for a quick workout together on Tuesday night, but the gym had been crowded and she'd had to resort to smirking at him when he complained about sore muscles.

Will was younger, he'd reminded her. Younger and with a body that hadn't been through several surgeries. But it still seemed unfair that, with everything Will had wanted, Charlie was the one who'd woken up Monday morning with pains in places where he hadn't had pains in a long time.

After that, his schedule had blown up with meetings about cutbacks and an emergency call from Katia— could he pick up Alicia from school and take her to her father's?— and students wanting help after hours. It had at least made dodging his sisters, and Jeanine's curiosity about Will, easier.

Of course, he'd still found the energy to make them dinner Tuesday night and to head up to Grayson's the night after that, where Will had pinned him to the door and dropped down and not said a word before blowing him, and afterward only murmured, “Thanks for dinner yesterday,” as though they hadn't been together the night before.

Charlie was pretty sure Will thought of Charlie cooking for him as code for sex, though Charlie had only ever meant food when he'd offered. He had to cook to eat, and if he wanted Will with him, it made sense to invite him. But since explaining that had earned him a funny look, Charlie hadn't mentioned it again, not even at Will's curious texts asking what Charlie was doing for dinner tonight.

Charlie hadn't had a moment to think about dinner. He hadn't had a moment to contemplate
anything
, much less food, since lunch. He hadn't even had a chance to go to the store. Right after work, he'd gotten a panicked call from the three girls upstairs that their toilet was overflowing.

He'd fixed it, or so he'd thought, but the moment he'd made it downstairs they'd called him again because water was spilling onto the floor. A few hours, a strained back, a burning hip joint, and an unpleasant smell in his clothes later, and the toilet was working fine. He'd snake it again tomorrow to be sure— if he could move enough tomorrow to get back up the stairs. If not, that's what professionals were for.

Anyway, after hours working on a toilet, Charlie didn't want food. He ignored his stomach and his phone as he stumbled into the shower. He'd wait to read the texts after he was clean. Will had been with a client all day— another bride, someone he knew this time— and she wanted to take him out afterward.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he got out of the shower. The lines around his eyes and mouth seemed deeper; he'd have to take a pill. Then he thought about how Will watched him when he prepared food and wiped at his cheeks. He wasn't a great cook, but he'd make something for Will if it meant he'd see him tonight.

He had to find something that wouldn't involve a lot of standing or bending. He made himself get dressed again and moved gingerly through the living room, fed Sam, then winced when trying not to put any weight on one side of course made his other side shaky and tense.

Will knew about his hip, knew he was older, Charlie reasoned as he washed up and then went through his cabinets and freezer. He swallowed a pill as he stared into his refrigerator. He ought to call Will and admit he was exhausted. Except that to say it all out loud would be a reminder of how ridiculous this thing was. Will wasn't going to stay interested in someone who couldn't even stand up long enough to make a meal.

Charlie wet his mouth. He needed to rest. He could pop another pill, a stronger one, but it would only dull the ache and make him feel slow and stupid.

Will wanted to date him. Charlie repeated that to himself, tried to mean it when his phone buzzed and startled him. He must have been staring into his fridge for the past ten minutes. He straightened up from where he'd been leaning on the door and let it close.

“Will,” he started and then froze when Missy answered.

“Will? Who's Will?”

His brain didn't quite catch up, though his heart did, slamming against his ribs at the idea of possibly trying to explain to her what he had with Will when he didn't know himself, and when thankfully there was a knock on the door, he mumbled, “Tenants. Upstairs. Overflowing toilet. I'll call you back,” and hung up before opening the door.

Will walked in without waiting, bending under Charlie's arm and closing the door behind himself. He had on the same shirt he'd worn last night, though he'd washed it somewhere, somehow, since then, which was good, because Charlie had gotten him back for sucking him off against the door before dinner by jacking him in the car in the dark parking lot of the restaurant, with Will gasping for Charlie to just fuck him in the backseat already, and Charlie blushing and reminding him that there were laws against that kind of thing. As if handjobs in public parking lots were any more legal.

Will had laughed and groaned and come all over the shirt
and
Charlie's hand, which Will had promptly licked clean, a dare in his eyes.

At the moment, however, his expression was hotter.

“Don't answer your phone, and I was going to bring you a doggie bag of spring rolls, but now you get nothing but my sexy self.” Will turned the second Charlie did and pulled Charlie's head down to kiss him. He moaned the second their lips met and fell forward when Charlie automatically cupped the back of his head to urge him closer and lick his mouth open.

Will was breathless, impatient. His hands grasped Charlie's shoulders and then fluttered down over his bare arms, touching skin that was still warm from the shower before moving on to his jeans.

“Jeans,” he panted in surprise against Charlie's mouth, only to kiss him again, pushing at Charlie's waist and then stepping in after him. Charlie moved back to let him, hit the counter and shifted without thinking so he could keep his balance.

He grunted at the slice of pain, tearing away and
just
keeping himself from swearing. He was holding onto Will too tightly and let go, staring down at the floor for a moment before he allowed himself a glance at Will.

He went even tenser when he saw how wide Will's eyes were. His whole body felt like one tight ache. He straightened anyway, and Will blinked.

“Charlie, are you... ?” He paused when Charlie put a hand to the small of his back, not rubbing, not yet, because right now that would be worse. He had to relax before he could even remotely attempt to correct the damage he'd done by overcompensating all afternoon.

“Oh.” Will peered at him, then sent his hands all over Charlie again, spreading them lightly over his chest. “Oh, you don't look good, Charlie.”

“Thanks.” Charlie frowned at the oven but let Will's sigh draw his eyes back. Will would see lines and pale skin but hopefully not the worry in his eyes. “I'm just— ”

“In pain,” Will declared, yanking his hands away and scowling. “I know that face.” He bit his lip. “Did I do that?”

“No!” Charlie was too loud, but he didn't call it back. Will only made a noise of disbelief and stepped back in. He touched Charlie's forehead and then swept both hands down over his sides. It didn't hurt, but Charlie flinched when one hand glanced over his hip. “It's been a long week.” Will coughed, so he hurried on. “And I had to fix a toilet today. That's all.” He tamped down the surge of anger at himself, his body, drunk drivers in general. “Just let me rest and I'll be fine.”

Let him rest and he probably wouldn't want to move until morning, if then, but hearing himself made him go tense, his already exhausted muscles humming.

Will half moved back at the word “toilet” but then stopped himself. He wrinkled his nose but stared into Charlie's eyes until, even knowing he was being silently questioned, Charlie had to look away.

“Oh, Charlie,” Will said again.

“I'm fi— ” Of course, whenever he said he was fine, and he wasn't, Will got pissed. “I'll be fine. I just need to rest. Are you hungry? I can make you something.” He stopped when Will stepped back and crossed his arms.

“No, I'm not hungry, which you'd know if you'd checked your phone. And I don't expect you to... .” He wrinkled his nose again. “Did you hurt yourself yesterday? Is that why you didn't fuck me in the car? Or does the old car rule still apply?”

“Will!” He wasn't completely decrepit. “I'm just tired. And the backseat of a car... .” He covered his embarrassment with a scowl. “What are we, teenagers?” It wasn't like he kept lube in the glove box and— he stopped himself before he could ask if Will did, though even dead tired he went hot at the image of Will under him in the backseat of his car. He couldn't imagine himself acting like a teenager, but he could imagine Will like that, begging him, and how he'd want to make Will happy, and what it would feel like to strip Will's clothes off in public, to touch him and know how much Will wanted him that he'd risk so much, and then, suddenly, tired or not, Charlie was starving.

He ran his hands through his hair, which wasn't anywhere near as soft as Will's, and swallowed the familiar frustration with his body. It probably wouldn't be anything but painful for him to try to have sex in the car.

“Okay, so it was just your whole ‘not breaking the law’ thing.” Will rolled his eyes as though Charlie was a kid after all, but then shrugged. “I can't tell when you're... . And you won't say anything until you get like this.” His eyes brightened. “Are
you
hungry?”

He hopped over and didn't stop until Charlie's back was to the counter. He leaned against it and let out a little sigh to have
anything
to lean against, which Will noticed, but all he said was, “I can go get you something. Or put something in the microwave. I wish I could cook.”

Charlie cut him off. “It's fine.” Since that wasn't good enough, he tried to explain. “I had to bend over their toilet and... .”

“Sounds sexy. I'll be serious.” Will added one on top of the other, then went silent. He shifted forward. Charlie touched him, carefully putting his arms around Will, nearly groaning when Will made a sound that meant he liked that.

“Now I just want to sit down.” He almost groaned. That wasn't at all what he wanted. He glanced away, hitching his shoulders.

Will tilted his head to the side. “So why don't you? Um... . The classics channel is supposed to be starting
Laura
sometime soon. We could watch. If you want, I mean.”

“You... ?” Charlie didn't know why he was surprised, but he swallowed when his voice rose, and nodded. He was pretty sure he'd seen
Laura
before, years ago, but Will didn't need to know that.

“Did you want me to get you anything else, then? A beer? A little V and V? Vodka and Vicodin,” Will explained, then he reached up to touch Charlie's hair when Charlie frowned and shook his head. He wasn't going to ask if Will really had Vicodin or if he'd meant Charlie's meds. “You took a shower. Without me.
Roo
.”

He was saying “rude.” Charlie got it this time. He twitched, which Will took as a cue to get closer. “I could have massaged the pain away in the shower,” Will complained against his neck. His hands wandered down, and Charlie shivered. He
needed
to rest, he reminded himself. Will's hands moved up, pressed at the small of his back, and Charlie pushed out a breath and made a sound.

He pushed away from the counter and felt the shock all the way up his back and down his leg. He bit off a word, and Will pulled away to study him. Charlie had a feeling that pain was etched into his face, but it was all he could do to stay standing as the wave passed.

“Charlie,” Will breathed. “I know that you're
happy to see me
, but you should sit down.”

“I am. I was. I'm fine.” He looked over. “If you want to... .”

Will frowned. “Oh, force yourself, why don't you? What do I look like? Wait!” He held up a hand. “Don't answer that.” His expression suddenly shifted to something slightly hurt, then sly.

His hand reached Charlie's shirt, and he touched a button before his fingers found enough fabric to pull Charlie toward him. Charlie went, holding back a grunt because the look in Will's eyes was new.

“I won't deny that I was looking forward to more than just a movie. But, God, Charlie, look at you.” A line came and went in Will's forehead. Charlie wanted to pet it. He also wanted to ask if Will truly wanted to wait until he was feeling better, but there wasn't a way to do that without embarrassing himself further or revealing just how weak he actually was at the moment.