Sorry, Bro (4 page)

With one free hand, Bryce grabbed the base of his own cock and massaged feverishly, savouring the simultaneous pressure on his tongue and just above his balls. As he moved up and down, Bryce felt the delicious tickle of Adrian's pubic hairs and the soft stroke of the skin of his balls against his chin. He swirled his tongue skilfully around Adrian’s shaft, continuing, faster, as Adrian groaned for more.

Satisfied, Bryce thought that it may have been his first time sucking dick, but he certainly wasn’t an amateur when it came to oral sex.

Teasing Adrian’s testicles with his free hand, Bryce moved more quickly, plunging Adrian’s cock deeper into his mouth. Then he pulled up so that just the very edge of the man’s thick, quivering dick slid across his tongue and against the inside of his lips.

“Oh, that feels so good, bro,” Adrian growled. “Keep going.”

Bryce continued, feeling the pressure grow in his balls, recognising the tell-tale tingle and contraction that signalled he was close.

“I think I’m gonna come,” Adrian gasped. He arched his feet and tugged Bryce’s hair, just as Bryce pulled the tip of the man’s dick from his mouth, watching the cum spurt upwards onto his chin, across his neck and down his chest.

Bryce squeezed his eyes shut, stroking more quickly. He stood and straddled Adrian, yelling “Fuck yeah!” as he came explosively, splashing cum across Adrian’s hairy abs and chest, before collapsing against him in a gasp of sheer pleasure and triumph.

Adrian laughed, stroking Bryce’s hair. “That was fucking awesome, man.”

Bryce breathed heavily, incredibly aware of how relieved—and satisfied he suddenly felt. Laughing, he stood and dropped back into a sitting position next to Adrian. He pressed his muscular leg against Adrian’s slightly darker, hairier one.

Adrian glanced over to Bryce and tapped the man’s thigh. “Feeling a little better?”

Bryce considered the question. For the moment, yes, he felt relief and release. But Tim and Tatum still weighed on his mind. And the moment itself. What did it mean? What, perhaps, would it mean later? After all, technically, Adrian was Bryce’s boss.

Bryce leaned his head onto the cushion behind him and closed his eyes. “Fuck,” he breathed. “That’s a tough question.” Then he opened one eye and cast Adrian a sidelong glance. “What was this, bro?” he asked, point-blank.

Adrian pursed his lips and shrugged. “Bryce, I’m a doctor. I make people feel better. Let’s put it this way, You’re a damn hot guy, and I’ve had my eye on you for a while now.” He licked his lips. “I was having a shitty day, and obviously you were having a shitty day. What we just did”—he paused again—“it was two guys helping each other feel better, get through the crap—just forget about it for ten minutes.”

Bryce nodded. “So what does this mean?”

Adrian stroked the light fuzz on Bryce’s thigh. “It means I’m here whenever you need it.” He grinned.

Bryce chuckled and pushed himself to his feet. The explanation made sense, more than he had expected, in fact. Still naked, he turned to Adrian and shook his hand.

Adrian nodded, and pulled Bryce into a rough hug. “We’re friends now, man,” he said. “I think I deserve a little more than that.”

“Sure, Tim”—Bryce’s ears burnt—“Adrian.” He hugged back, harder this time and angled his head upward to brush his lips against Adrian’s mouth before he left.

He hoped that Tim would be awake when he arrived at work in the morning.

* * * *

The next morning, Bryce arrived at the hospital more than an hour before the start of his scheduled shift, hoping to avoid Adrian in the locker room.

But, as Bryce pulled off his shorts, he was helpless to resist imagining Adrian’s large, calloused hands cupping his balls and stroking his hard cock.

Did that mean he was gay?

Bryce sighed. He hadn’t thought about it in eight years.

He dressed quickly and dashed up the stairs to the Coronary Care Unit, grabbing his clipboard as he passed the nurses’ station.

Tim
. He was thinking of Tim now.
Fuck you
.

No, fuck me.
After all, he was the one who had jumped ship, who had pulled up everything and left Tim when he had needed someone most. What the hell kind of friend was that?

Bryce winced. Had Tim had any friends at all after he had left? Had there been anyone to talk to, to ask for help? Fleetingly, Bryce remembered the tears in Tim’s eyes and the delicate sting in his own.

Bryce stuffed the clipboard under one arm and looked up. Two-ten. Somehow, without realising it, his feet had led him to Tim’s room. Hesitating, Bryce looked at the floor. His shoes were white and slightly dirty. Nondescript, really, like his life, and like every half-assed decision he had made leading him to this moment. He looked back up, into the room, and saw that the shades had been drawn open. The foot of the bed was in full view, and he saw the outline of Tim’s large feet in the plain white sheets. He took a step forward, and his heart drummed.

Tim sat up in bed, two pillows stuffed neatly behind his back. He stared out the window, but glanced towards the door when Bryce entered.

Bryce looked down. He didn’t know what to say. He thought again of what Tim had said on the stretcher back in the OR—‘What’s up, buddy?’ What the hell had that meant? Mere sarcasm, or had Tim actually been glad to see him? Or, simply as glad as possible in the state he was in.

Bryce forced a smile. Tim grinned.

Tim. Even with the bruise on his left jaw and the string of stitches across his right brow, he looked handsome as ever. Handsome? Bryce paused. Was that really how he would have described his best friend eight years ago—or even now?

Tim's grin widened. His teeth were straight, bright and incredibly white.

Little had changed in eight years. His hair was still light brown and close-cropped, and of course, it was nearly impossible to wipe the silly grin off his face.

Bryce smiled wider. He was still nervous.

Tim was taller than Bryce, and at six foot three, he looked gigantic in spite of the fact that he was on his back. If anything, he had gained some weight. Tim used to be thin, all lean muscle and sinew, but Bryce saw that was more substantial now. He also wore a prickle of stubble on his chin and across his cheeks, and a dash of freckles dotted his nose and forehead, but were barely visible on his lightly tanned face. But his eyes. Bryce looked intently into Tim's eyes as he smiled down at his friend. His blue eyes were so familiar, so clear, and strangely welcoming despite the distance of time between them.

“Hi,” Bryce said. The word was painful.

“Hey,” Tim responded, and he lifted his arms. “Bro, come and give me a hug, and pull up a chair.”

Bryce hadn’t even completed any of his rounds, but he couldn’t refuse Tim’s gracious invitation. Guilt and confusion nudged Bryce forward, and he leaned into Tim’s powerful embrace. He was worried that Tim would still be weak from the beating just two days before, but his grip was tight, and he slapped Bryce firmly on the back. More delicately this time, Tim said, “Bro, it’s good to see you.”

Tim grunted as Bryce pulled away. “Are you okay, man?” He crossed the room and reached for Tim’s chart, which hung just inside the door.

“Oh, just a few god damned bruises.” Bryce scrutinised the yellow printouts, which confirmed what Tim had just told him.

Silently, Bryce crossed the room, then adjusted the pillows behind Tim, who sighed at the movement. Bryce rolled a chair from the corner and positioned it awkwardly next to the bed.

“Hey, man, I’m really sorry.” Bryce bit the inside of his lower lip.

Bryce thought he saw the shadow of disappointment cross Tim’s face, but just for an instant before he eked out a smile.

“Bro, I don’t want to talk about that. I’m just glad to see you—and to be alive.” Tim hitched himself back and up and leaned against the wall behind him.

“Here, let me raise your headrest,” Bryce said, fumbling for the control, which had become tangled in the sheets on Tim’s bed. His hand brushed Tim’s, and he blushed. Tim grabbed Bryce’s hand and squeezed. It was incredibly warm. “I’m fine, bro, really.” He smiled again, and, nodding, Bryce dropped back into his seat.

Bryce tugged at one ear. “How did you end up here?” Was that the right way to start? Bryce still wanted to know why Tim was in New Orleans. Had he come south to see Bryce? The police had said that the assault had been unprovoked and random—but could there be something more?

“I got jumped, man. I’ve heard it happens all the time,” Tim said. “Hey, I would’ve been fucking pretty pissed, but now you’re here. Hard to be upset about that.” He winked.

Bryce smiled uneasily.
Come out with it
. He needed to just tell the damn truth, as did Tim.

Assault—too easy a dodge of the question, and it was something Bryce already knew. Was Tim mad at him, and just trying to hide it? Tim had never been good at showing his feelings. He shielded himself with good looks, rowdy laugher and dirty jokes, and he never let others glimpse what he was truly feeling…except once.

“I’m outta here tomorrow.” Tim gestured towards his stomach. “It seems like the beer bottle just caused a few superficial cuts. That and a few right hooks is all.” Tim chuckled again. “Damn, all that just for a few bucks. Funny how they took my money and not my wallet.”

Bryce’s ears perked up. Homeless and no money. “You can stay with me…you do need a place to stay?”

“Yeah, I just got here yesterday.”

“On vacation?” Bryce probed, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Nah, bro. Coming here for good. Figured it worked for you.” Tim shrugged. He didn’t smile this time, but looked directly at Bryce, who lowered his eyes.

Fuck.
Bryce was thinking a thousand thoughts at once.
Fuck
. His beeper lit up, and he snatched the device off his belt. Bad timing. “Man, I gotta go.” Bryce stood quickly, grabbed his clipboard and dashed for the door, yelling over his shoulder. “Bro, I’m off tomorrow, but I’ll stop by in the morning.” Bryce watched Tim nod again before he entered the hallway at a slow jog.

Bryce pushed any thoughts of Tim from his mind. It was someone’s life on the line, right now. Not in the past. Bryce pushed through the heavy door to the stairwell, descended two flights and burst into the OR on the first floor.

Sweaty and flushed, Adrian stood over the stretcher. “Call it,” he said hoarsely.

Bryce stood motionless in the doorway, his lips parted. Then, gritting his teeth, he took a step forward. “Doctor, what’s wrong. You paged?” But Bryce knew what had happened.

Adrian glanced over his shoulder. “No, I don’t need you, nurse.” He wore a bloody pair of rubber gloves.

It was New Orleans. It happened all the time—right?

As Bryce turned to leave, he reflected on the sternness with which Adrian had spoken to him the day before. The unexpected gentleness in his tone today was startling, in a way. Had he made that much of an impression the night before? They had both had rough days. Adrian had lost a patient, and Bryce had seen his former best friend lying on a stretcher. And it had only been one blow job. There was no reason for Adrian to treat him differently.

But someone had died. No matter how many times it happened, Bryce knew how hard it was. All of them were people, with lives and dreams and families.

It happened all the time in New Orleans. Too often, perhaps.

Bryce shuffled down the sterile corridor and wrapped his arms around his midsection. He shivered. He would never get used to it. Mainly, it bothered him because he would be lying on that stretcher one day, for this reason or that reason, and it would be his time. He only had so much.

Life was too short and too fragile not to tell the truth. And he should’ve just told the truth to Tim.

Bryce cursed himself. He didn’t even know what the truth was.

In the locker room, Bryce sat motionless on the low bench before the row of blue, paint-chipped compartments, his face resting in his upturned palms. Adrian had just lost a patient. But Tim was back.

I broke even
. Bryce laughed at the insanely macabre thought.

The locker room door opened and slammed heavily. Bryce glanced up, and saw Adrian flip the interior lock. He had already stripped off his smock and his scrub top, and wore only his scrub bottoms and a white tank top undershirt, which contoured perfectly to his rapidly rising and falling pecs and abs.

If it was hard for Bryce to lose a patient, it was no doubt even harder for a doctor. After all, Bryce was just a nurse. He could assist a doctor, and quite effectively at that. He could make a patient more comfortable during a stay in the hospital. He could put a patient at ease when they had questions or concerns. But the act of actually saving a life—that was beyond Bryce’s expertise. Perhaps it was because it was too much pressure. It was too much responsibility. Or, it was simply the fact that he could never be sure about anything.

Without question, that was the story of his life, even before New Orleans.

Bryce met Adrian’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

Adrian just stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Bryce’s back and kissed him on the lips. Startled at first, Bryce held his mouth shut, but then, as Adrian’s warmth washed over him, Bryce let Adrian’s tongue slip into his mouth in a full, deep kiss.