The One That Got Away (5 page)

Chuckling, David fanned his cards, examining them. “Ha, maybe once upon a time. Most are married, until last year when Jared’s wife left him, and he’s still too torn up to even think about dating. Out to pasture might be a better description.”

“Except you,” Trace pointed out as he looked at his cards and moved a couple around.

“Yeah, well…. You’ve seen the hordes lining up at the bedroom door.” David picked up four pieces of popcorn and tossed them in the center. “I’m in.” He gave Trace a brief outline of the hierarchy of hands and how to bet.

“Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve noticed, sometimes,” Trace pointed out as he frowned at his cards, but threw in some kernels anyway before taking a drink.

David tilted his head, looking at his friend speculatively. “You have?”

Trace looked up from his cards and shrugged a little. “Just sometimes when you were in a better mood than usual, I figured you’d found someone. When you passed on ballgames on the weekend, that sort of thing. Course, I thought it was a woman.” Trace grinned. “But same result.”

“Hmmm. So I guess that means those mornings that you couldn’t sink a putt to save your soul, but grinned anyway, came after marathon sex sessions,” David speculated, grinning.

“Could be,” Trace said, eyes bright. “I’d already hit a hole in one,”

he added smugly as he sat back with his glass.

David took a sip of his scotch, choking at the bad pun. “Oh, God, Jackson, that’s bad even for you. I call.” David scraped in the pot, raising another handful of the salty kernels to his mouth. “We seem to be running out of currency,” he commented after Trace dealt the next several hands.

Trace was still chuckling as he emptied his glass and looked down into the bowl. “Well, we could always play strip,” he joked as he tossed another handful into his mouth, hair scattering over his shoulders.

Tipping his head back, David downed the rest of his scotch in one gulp, his pulse racing at the thought of Trace naked.
Fuck, why not?,
he thought, deciding to call the cocky bastard’s bluff. “Works for me. We’ll skip the ante and just play hands. Whoever loses the hand loses a piece of clothing. That work for you?”

Shrugging, Trace reached for the bottle and tipped a bit more into each glass. “Go for it, Romeo. You’re the shark,” he teased. He shuffled the cards and dealt, then looked at his hand after another drink. His cheeks were warm, like he’d had three or four good beers already. It felt good to just have fun again. He looked up at David with an honest smile as he waited.

Face blank, David looked at his cards seriously for the first time that night. He hadn’t been letting Trace win, but he hadn’t been taking his usual risks either—the risks that usually paid off. Flicking the edges of his cards, he folded them facedown on the table. “I’ll stay.”

Trace looked at his cards. Strip poker with David. What a crazy-ass thing to be doing. He chuckled and shrugged. “I’ll stay.”

David flipped over his cards, trying not to smile. “King high flush.”

Wrinkling his nose, Trace looked at his cards and shook his head.

“Two pair.” He looked down at his clothes and shrugged, pulling off a black dress sock and dropping it to the floor.

“Oh no,” David chided. “Anything that comes in pairs, goes in pairs. 
Take ’em both off.”

Trace rolled his eyes and yanked off the other sock, exposing long toes that sank into the thick carpet. “Picky, are you? Fine. I’ll remember that,” he said after another sip of scotch. He shuffled and dealt. “I’m in.”

David looked at Trace over the top of his cards, eyes narrowed.

They’d played five hands since changing the stakes. Trace had lost his socks, his dress shirt, his belt, and his watch. The next thing to go would be the thin white T-shirt that was stretched across his muscular chest.

David wasn’t sure he could take it. Unfortunately, he’d started off with nothing but jeans and a T-shirt and he’d already lost the T-shirt. “Call.”

“I’m in,” Trace said, setting down the glass he’d emptied of scotch.

“Full house,” he crowed.

“Nice. Very nice,” David agreed. Pressing his fanned cards to the table with a flourish, he smirked. “Just not quite good enough. Full house, aces over jacks.”

Trace’s face fell comically. “I thought I had you that time,” he pouted, shaking his head so his hair flopped over his shoulders. He tossed down his cards and pulled the T-shirt out of his waistband and over his head, laying it over the back of the couch as he reached for the cards to shuffle again. It didn’t occur to him to be uncomfortable; he wore shorts and tanks when he and David played racquetball. He’d even been in clinging, soaked swimming trunks when they’d gone to the water park.

David couldn’t drag his eyes from Trace’s smooth, tanned chest. It was obvious that he’d stepped up his workout routine. He hadn’t been nearly this size last summer. The blond shifted on the couch, reaching for his scotch and finding it empty. He either needed to get drunk really quickly or get out of this room. Not wanting to waste exquisite scotch, he opted for the latter. “I think maybe it’s time for bed. The meds mixed with alcohol are getting to me,” he stammered, standing.

The younger man blinked and watched David get up. “Okay,” he said, sounding a little concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked, seeing the other man’s flushed face but easily attributing it to the scotch. After all, he was a bit red-faced himself, and certainly not embarrassed.

“Ah, yeah.” David shook his head, still hesitating beside the couch.

He needed help with his jeans unless he wanted to sleep in them, but Trace’s hands anywhere near the vicinity of his crotch was just not a good idea right now. Making a silent vow to wear sweatpants the next day, he cleared his throat. “Uhm, if you’ll just do the button, I think I can handle the rest,” he said, motioning toward his jeans. He was half-hard, but hoped Trace just wouldn’t notice. The man was straight, after all; he wasn’t used to looking for signs of arousal from a man.

“Sure.” Trace pushed away the niggle of concern. He’d probably been mother-henning David too much anyway. If the man was tired, he was tired. He reached up and slid his fingers into the waistband on both sides of the button as he pulled it open, and it did occur to him to glance 
over what he was doing. Some part of his head noticed “Hey, David’s got some size on him,” but as soon as he released the jeans and sat back, the thought was gone. “I’m gonna chill awhile, then I’ll clean up.” He smiled lazily. “Thanks for the scotch.”

David swallowed, looking down at Trace. The brunet’s eyes were closed, his mouth curving up into a satisfied smile. David was nearly overcome with a desire to lean down and kiss that smile. Clenching his fists, he forced himself to turn away from his friend and walk toward the bedroom, adjusting the growing tightness in his jeans once his back was turned. If his right arm had been functioning properly, he’d have locked himself in the bathroom and taken care of the developing problems, but he wasn’t at all ambidextrous when it came to self-pleasure. Once safely hidden away in his bedroom, he shuffled his jeans to the floor, cursing softly as his hand brushed the bulge in his boxers, torturing himself by letting his fingers linger and flex over the stiff shaft. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

He stretched out on the bed.

Humming slightly as he enjoyed the buzz, Trace lay sprawled on the couch for some time before yawning and deciding he should move before he fell asleep right there. He stretched and yawned again, then knelt down on the floor and cleaned up the rest of the popcorn, secreted away the scotch, and scooped up his clothes. Turning off the light, he wandered down the hall, stopping to drop his clothes in the hamper in the hall closet.

With a sigh he pushed the bedroom door open, peering in at the figure under the covers. David had taken to sleeping on his good shoulder, uncomfortable on his back, and the soft light from the bathroom fell on his blond hair.

Trace slid his hand into the bathroom and clicked off the light before walking around to the other side of the wide bed. He slid out of his pants, leaving them puddled on the floor, and crawled into bed in just his briefs.

He sighed and stretched out on his belly and pulled the pillow under his chin.

David shifted as the bed dipped under Trace’s weight, keeping his breathing even so that his friend would think he was already asleep. He’d been lying in the dark trying to make sense of his conflicting thoughts. He and Trace had been friends for years without the hint of something more and now suddenly he was assailed by erotic thoughts of stripping the handsome brunet bare and licking every inch of his body. Biting his lip, he moved his leg slightly forward to hide the evidence of his wayward thoughts.

Turning his cheek against the pillow as he drowsed, Trace curled his body toward David unconsciously, drawn by the heat of the other man’s body. After a few long minutes, he shifted further in David’s direction as he slept. Tensing as Trace threw an arm over him some minutes later, David bit back a yelp of surprise. Oh, great. Feed Trace decent scotch and the man became a cuddler. David attempted to inch sideways to put more space between them and the arm resting at his waist tightened, pulling him back into the curve of Trace’s body. With a resigned sigh, David attempted to relax. It felt good to be held, and he was asleep before he knew it. 

IT was late the next morning before Trace stirred, shifting slightly against the warm body he held close. It didn’t occur to him to be confused. He hummed slightly, nuzzling the neck in front of him before stilling again, drifting along in a light sleep.

David was having the best dream. Trace had him pinned facedown to the bed, his face buried in the fleshy crook between David’s shoulder and neck as the brunet’s muscular body arched, his cock sliding slowly in and out of him in a steady, rhythmic glide. David pushed his ass back onto his lover, mumbling a quiet plea for more into the sheet-covered padding.

His own dream one of pleasant satiation and rest, Trace purred softly and pulled the warm body closer, pressing his lips lightly to the side of the neck. He wasn’t conscious enough to be awake.

“Mmm. Yes…. Trace,” David moaned, rocking his ass against the hard shaft that pierced him in his dreams.

Sighing, Trace cuddled closer, inhaling deeply. His dream was warm and pleasant, having someone he really cared about so close, though he was too far asleep, even in his dream world, to open his eyes and look at his lover. His hand curled over the body’s waist, flattened, and rubbed ever so slightly over warm skin.

David’s body rolled to give his lover better access—and glanced his broken shoulder against Trace’s arm. With a jolt of sharp pain, he was wide awake. Horrified, he practically jumped away from Trace’s sleep-warm body, jarring his shoulder again, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out. Fuck! Panting, he slung his legs over the side of the bed and hurried into the safety of the bathroom. Closing the lid of the toilet, he sat, cradling his head in his hand. Having Trace playing nursemaid was both the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

The sudden shift of the bed and the body confused Trace, and it took him a long moment to figure out what was dream and what was real as he pushed himself to sit up and open his eyes. He blinked, seeing immediately that David was gone, and that he was in the middle of the bed instead of his side. A groggy glance told him the bathroom door was shut, so he turned over, scooted to the cooler sheets on the far side and curled back up around the pillow. He hoped he could have that dream again. It was warm and comfortable and smelled familiar, a smell that he instinctively recognized as belonging to someone dear to him. But he drifted back off before his brain could connect the scent with a name.

Trace sighed happily as he sank back into the dream, pleased by the arms that curled around him, the scent filling him and making him feel like he was where he was supposed to be.

Calming the pounding in the lower part of his body with several deep controlled breaths, David turned and started the shower. Pushing his boxers to the floor, he stepped into the stinging spray—sling and all. They could throw it in the dryer later. Letting the water sluice over his body, he couldn’t seem to stop his hand from curling around his still half-hard shaft. He groaned, squeezing, but still not fully committed to bringing himself off. There was just something about jacking off to thoughts of Trace fucking him that pushed them across an invisible line he wasn’t sure he was ready to cross. Squeezing his eyes shut, he added a palmful of shampoo to his hair, working it into a lather. As he rinsed the suds from 
his hair, his hand followed them down over his chest, his fingers running into the hair curled around his still-throbbing cock. Fingers still slick curled around the shaft and stroked, the awkwardness of using his left hand eased by the soap. His forehead came to rest against the cold tile as his hand shuttled up and down, images from his dream pushing him over the edge. He gasped, whimpering as his cock pulsed in his hand. “Trace,” 
he whispered.

David’s body shook with the force of his orgasm, and he stood braced against the shower wall until the water ran cold. Twisting off the water, he stepped out of the tub, his muscles feeling like wet noodles.

Drying himself as best he could, he gingerly slipped the sling off, letting it fall onto the floor with a splat. Damn. He’d been in such a hurry to hide out in the bathroom that he hadn’t brought in any clean clothes. Peering around the bathroom door, he verified that Trace was still asleep before tiptoeing to the dresser and pulling open a drawer to find a clean pair of boxers and sweatpants.

The sounds of the drawers pulling open shook Trace from sleep, and he turned his head, lifting up a bit and mumbling, “David? Izzat you?”

Jumping guiltily, David looked back over his shoulder, sure Trace would be able to read everything in his face. Clutching the folded clothes to his crotch, he walked back toward the bathroom, keeping his back to the bed. “Ah yeah, just grabbing clean clothes. Go back to sleep.”