On and Off Page 4

  “Somehow that one seems more likely, Professor W.”

  “Press play. I want to ogle superheroes in tight costumes.”

  * * *

  Jackson woke feeling disoriented. He was on the sofa, which wasn’t unusual, but the blanket covering him was gray instead of navy blue. The television appeared to have grown in size, and it was surrounded by art and trinkets from countries he’d never visited. He shifted under the covers to pull out his phone. Had he missed his call with Mitchell?

  That’s right. He was at Mitchell’s place. Where he’d fallen asleep before the good part of the movie. The part where he and Mitchell were supposed to say screw the movie and wind up screwing each other, instead.

  He sat up, shaking off the lingering lethargy. Mitchell sat at the raised kitchen counter, hunting and pecking away at his laptop. The soft glow of the screen lit up his face as he shook his head and pounded harder at the keyboard. Jackson coughed to clear his throat, and Mitchell looked up.

  “Good nap?” He tapped one more key, then closed the screen.

  “I’m so sorry. I think I missed the chill part of Netflix.”

  “It was orgasmic. You should’ve been there.” Instead of joining him on the sofa, Mitchell pulled Jackson up to stand with him.

  “Any chance of rewinding?” Jackson draped his arms over Mitchell’s shoulders. He let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal when Mitchell reached down to wrap Jackson’s legs around his waist and carried him into the bedroom.

  “I’d be happy to give a hands-on demonstration.” Mitchell released Jackson’s legs and took a step back, allowing him to put on the brakes if this wasn’t what he wanted.

  Jackson had no intention of calling a stop to anything. He wrapped his hand behind Mitchell’s head and pulled him close for a kiss. Mitchell’s green eyes darkened like an ocean storm. Combined with his sea breeze and mint scent, Jackson was carried away to their own private island.

  Like the night at the club, Jackson’s blood heated at the first press of lips against his own. His heart pounded as he let Mitchell take control, losing himself in the feel of Mitchell’s tongue exploring his mouth. Mitchell ran his hands down Jackson’s sides, bringing his t-shirt back up with them. Suddenly they were both scrambling to undress. Shirts off, they pressed their chests together even as they both reached for their pants. In an instant, Mitchell shoved his shorts down and stood naked before him. His erection pressed into Jackson’s hip as he brought his hands to speed up the process of getting Jackson out of his jeans.

  He stiffened as the cool air of the room hit his exposed leg, bringing a dose of reality. Before he could completely lose himself to Mitchell’s touch, he had some explaining to do. He deliberately stepped back so Mitchell could see all of him.

  He was bemused as Mitchell’s gaze immediately went to his cock and gratified when Mitchell gasped in pleasure. Catching himself leering, Mitchell raised his eyes to Jackson’s face and then traced a path down his body with his eyes and a single fingertip. He left tingles in his wake, a shimmer he felt all the way down his nick, over the hair on his chest, his navel. Mitchell lingered again on his length, and it was Jackson’s turn to catch his breath as the tip of Mitchell’s tongue licked his lips in anticipation just as his fingernail caught the tip of Jackson’s cock.

  Then Mitchell continued down his body. His eyes widened when he got his first look at the scars, and Jackson braced himself for disgust and rejection. He flinched as Mitchell traced the longest scar with the fingertip that had just been bringing him so much pleasure.

  Mitchell’s hand under his chin brought Jackson’s head up, and he looked deeply into his eyes as he laid his palm over the healed wounds. “Who was pitching that baseball, Anthony Rizzo?”

  Jackson gave a bark of laughter and held back unexpected tears. How very Mitchell, bringing warmth and humor to the situation. “I don’t think he’s a pitcher.”

  “I don’t think I like baseball,” Mitchell snarked. “I must’ve heard the name on the news.” His hand continued to stroke, learning the contours of the misshapen muscles.

  “Would you believe it was a sixty-year-old philosophy professor?”

  “I was really hoping you were an international spy.”

  “I’m afraid the spy agency turned me down after they found out I had cancer,” he said quietly.

  Mitchell’s hand stilled. “Had or have?” he asked in a choked voice.

  “Professor Cogden’s wild pitch broke my leg in two places. That’s not exactly normal, so they ran tests.” Jackson sat on the bed and pulled Mitchell down beside him. Entwining their fingers, he positioned their hands just above his knee. “They found a tumor, right about there.” Jackson released his grip, giving Mitchell the opportunity to pull away. His hand remained where Jackson left it. Still but warm.

  “And now?”

  Jackson entwined their fingers again, drawing strength from the touch. “They managed to remove the tumor, followed by radiation and chemo. I’m a year out from treatment and cancer-free, and I have a good long-term prognosis.” He felt Mitchell’s relieved breath against the side of his head.

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t get another tumor,” he warned. “Or lung cancer. Or a host of other problems down the road.”

  “Nobody can guarantee they won’t get sick in the future.” Mitchell leaned in to kiss him, but Jackson wasn’t done. He needed to get through this before they took things any further. If Mitchell rejected him after Jackson gave him his heart, his spirit would be as broken as his body. Who am I kidding, Mitchell already has it.

  “The limp is permanent. They had to remove muscle, and there’s a lot of metal in there holding the bones together. For a while, they thought they might have to amputate. And chemo takes its toll on the body. You’ve seen how tired I get. Sometimes I’m short of breath.”

  “Shit. And I made you climb all those stairs.”

  “Shh.” Jackson gave him a brief kiss. “The breathing and exhaustion have been improving, but it’s going to take time. This spring was the first time I taught a full course load since I was injured.”

  “So rock climbing is out. Got it.”

  Jackson laughed. “That’s all you have to say?” He sobered. “You can walk away, you know.”

  “No, I can’t.” Mitchell nuzzled his head alongside Jackson’s and whispered in his ear. “It’s my apartment. And neither one of us is going anywhere until tomorrow.”

  Chapter Five

  Jackson lifted his face for a kiss, and Mitchell was happy to provide it. He held his gaze as their mouths met softly, capturing Jackson’s sigh. He cupped the back of Jackson’s head and guided him down to the bed. A groan filled his mouth, and he deepened the kiss. He shifted to press his body over Jackson’s, rewarded with a hand on his back. He arched into it, and the hand slipped lower, tracing the curve of his ass. Mitchell braced his legs on either side of Jackson’s hips, encouraging him to stroke along his crease.

  “God, your ass. You taunted me with it from that first night, pacing back and forth. The things I wanted to do with you.”

  “It’s yours now. Do whatever you want with it.” He started rocking, pressing back against Jackson’s fingers and forward along the length of his cock. All along his length. His professor was hiding an impressive package behind his lectern.

  It was enough to give an average-sized guy a complex if he didn’t know he could make up for it in flexibility. He brought his knees up and rose onto the balls of his feet. He wrapped his fingers around Jackson’s base and slid down, groaning when it brushed across his hole.

  Jackson’s hands on his hips stopped his motion. “I don’t want to rush this. I want to play first—” He raised his hands, and Mitchell hissed when Jackson pinched his nipples “—do some of the things you’ve tormented me with over the phone for the past two weeks.”

  Slow. He could do slow. It’d just been awhile. Bathroom hookups were quick, all about getting off and getting gone before getting caught. And h
e didn’t want to think about the times he’d woken up in a hotel room with a hangover and a couple used condoms to give him a clue as to what had taken place.

  He wanted to remember every minute of tonight. He let Jackson roll them over and bent his leg to cradle him between his hips. Jackson’s fingers were replaced by his lips. A quick nip of teeth, which made him shiver. He stroked through Jackson’s hair, the curls twisting around his fingers. As Jackson slid lower, those curls dragged Mitchell’s hands down with him.

  “Look at you,” Jackson whispered. Mitchell lowered his gaze just as Jackson ran the tip of his tongue over the head of his cock, catching a single bead of precum. His eyes closed, and Jackson continued to lick away each bead as it formed. Just when Mitchell was ready to beg for more, beg for his mouth, he was engulfed in wet heat.

  His shout was so loud, he had to have woken the neighbors. He couldn’t contain his moans and whimpers, couldn’t control the trembling of his thighs. He tugged on a handful of curls to pull Jackson away before he lost control.

  Jackson slid up his body. “Tell me what you like,” he whispered.

  “You inside me, please.” Mitchell waved his hand vaguely at his nightstand, and Jackson leaned over to pull out a condom and lube.

  Jackson slicked up his fingers and slowly circled Mitchell’s hole. When one finger finally pushed inside, his vision splintered. The finger pressed deeper, then came almost all the way out. Jackson began sucking on Mitchell’s nipple, matching the rhythm of his finger. Two fingers. Three. Mitchell felt the stretch through every inch of his body.

  “I’m good. Now. Do it now.” He writhed on the bed.

  “It’s been a while for me.” Jackson kept thrusting those fingers, brushing his prostate, leaving him grunting and grabbing at the sheets. “Once I get inside you, it’s all over, so I want to get you close.”

  “I’m close. I’m close.” Mitchell cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought to hold back as Jackson finally withdrew his fingers and rolled on a condom.

  Jackson pushed Mitchell’s knees up to his ears and leaned in to kiss him. As their lips and tongues met, Jackson pushed inside. He gave Mitchell a moment to adjust to the fullness—and oh my god, he was so very full—then withdrew, only to push back inside.

  They quickly found a rhythm. Mitchell arched his back and rolled his hips, seeking friction on his cock.

  “Touch yourself,” Jackson ordered, and he was quick to comply.

  “Jackson…” Mitchell moaned as he shot, coating his hand.

  “Yes. Yes.” Jackson gave one more deep thrust inside him, then froze.

  Mitchell gave one more shudder as Jackson pulled out. Jackson got up to get rid of the condom and returned to the bed, pulling Mitchell into his arms.

  “Your leg?” Mitchell asked. That had been a lot of exertion for Jackson. On top of those goddamn stairs.

  “What leg?” Jackson murmured.

  Mitchell heard the change in Jackson’s breathing as he quickly drifted off. Mitchell replayed the last several minutes over in his head.

  Sex was a conversation. Usually stimulating, sporadically funny, occasionally boring, and sometimes regrettable. Sex with Jackson was cuddling in front of a fireplace with jazz playing in the background. As if they already knew each other so well, the exact words were superfluous. He hadn’t had a conversation like this since… in years.

  * * *

  With no lessons on Sunday, Mitchell would have gladly spent the next day by Jackson’s side. But the professor had essays to grade and an article to polish, so they’d gone their separate ways after a leisurely breakfast.

  Mitchell had a lot to think about after last night, which meant moving his body to free his mind. He considered going to the rink, but he didn’t want to to run into anyone he knew. He’d go for a run instead. It remained oppressively hot in the city, so as long as he stayed well south of the Intrepid, the foot traffic in Hudson River Park should be sparse.

  He was glad Jackson had told him about the cancer. He had to have been nervous that Mitchell would reject him, but he’d taken the chance. Mitchell was still working to gain that level of trust in return, and he knew Jackson noticed. He’d be hurt if Mitchell didn’t start opening up soon, especially after he’d already put himself on the line. But how did he explain his stupidity over Barton or his hurt over his parents’ reaction?

  How did he know Jackson wouldn’t take the story and run to the press with it?

  No, that was ridiculous. Jackson was honest to his core. He’d proven that last night.

  His cell phone rang, and he answered through his headphones without looking at the screen. The only person who called him rather than texting was Jackson.

  “You forget your socks or something?” Mitchell teased.

  “Mitch?”

  Speak of the devil. He moved to the side of the path and pulled out his phone to see Barton’s name. Dammit, he’d meant to block him after the bastard kept texting.

  “Hanging up now, Bart.” As much as Mitchell disliked the shortened version of his own name, Barton hated his with the fire of a thousand suns.

  “Wait!” Barton yelled as Mitchell’s finger hovered over the red disconnect button.

  Mitchell hesitated. Barton had been trying awfully hard to get in touch for someone who had to know the contact wasn’t welcome. Maybe he was sick or something. As if I should care?

  “Sixty seconds,” he conceded.

  “I’ve got an opportunity. A very lucrative opportunity.”

  “Congratulations. Forty-five seconds.”

  “Dammit. It’s something for both of us. As a matter of fact, it only works with both of us.”

  “That’s a shame because there is no more both of us.” Mitchell side-eyed the red button. He didn’t need thirty more seconds of this bullshit.

  “They want the two of us to cover the Olympics,” Barton blurted in a rush.

  Mitchell’s finger twitched. “What?” He sighed. “Start at the beginning.”

  “The network wants us to cover the Olympics,” he repeated. “We’d do an interview together in the next few weeks to show that we’ve buried the hatchet and moved on. Then a few segments during some of the fall skating events and Nationals.” Barton paused to catch his breath. “And then the Olympics.”

  “What the hell makes them think we’d be interested in working together?” He’d sooner skate naked at Wollman Rink in January. “Last I heard, you were still competing.”

  “Because… I sort of told them we would.”

  “You what?!” Red button, red button.

  “Look, it’s not public yet, but I’m retiring. The Federation and the network think the acrimony between us will make for good television.” He hesitated. “They insist we come as a package. If you don’t agree to it, there’s no deal.”

  Barton always did talk too much. Except when he didn’t say anything at all.

  “Your minute is up.”

  “C’mon, Mitch. We could be so good together again. Onscreen and off.”

  He laughed, a little hysterically. “That ship sailed so long ago, I’m sure it’s been put up in dry dock somewhere. Besides, I’m seeing someone.”

  “The guy who left his socks behind?” Barton said with disdain.

  “Yup. Big feet. Huge.”

  “How big is his pocketbook?” Barton scoffed. “I know you could use the money after what happened with your parents.”

  “Yeah, and who was the impetus for that, huh?”

  “Nobody told them to pile up a mountain of debt before you had the gold medal and sponsorships in hand.”

  True. They’d done that part on their own, just as they’d burned through Mitchell’s savings without his knowledge.

  “Think of it as a competition. With your focus on style and mine on strength, we could battle it out over which skaters will win. I know you must miss it.”

  No, he really didn’t. As he listened to Barton’s pitch, all he could think about was how much he’d
enjoyed these past few weeks with Jackson. They brought out the best in each other instead of exploiting each other’s weaknesses. Jackson made him appreciate all he had instead of feeling like he had to constantly measure up or do more.

  “You’re out of time, Barton,” Mitchell said. “Good luck with retirement.”

  He disconnected the call over Barton’s pleas.

  * * *

  The dishes were washed and put away. He’d changed his sheets. He’d done some personal maintenance. Both he and his apartment were all cleaned up in case Jackson finished his paperwork and decided to come over.

  He needed to finally open up to Jackson and explain what had happened with Barton and his parents, why his trust had been so thoroughly shattered. That was definitely a conversation he wanted to have in person, though, rather than over the phone. Now that he’d had the rest of the day to think about Barton’s offer, he was also starting to second-guess himself. If he were making commentator money, he could move to an apartment with a reliable elevator. He’d be able to afford to take Jackson out to nicer restaurants than the dive around the corner. He’d hate every minute of being on display with Barton, but he could suck it up at least through the Olympics, right?

  In the meantime, he opened his laptop to catch up on Topical. Doc1984 hadn’t been posting as frequently the past several weeks. Then again, neither had he. Mitchell liked to think he was just picking and choosing his battles more carefully. He really didn’t need to troll Doc about his post on the dangers of antibacterial soap. He’d save his flames for the Beyoncé versus Britney versus Taylor argument because Doc was dead wrong on that one.

  Of course, he was also spending much of his spare time with Jackson.

  Maybe Doc had gotten past date number three with that guy he was seeing. He should thank Doc for providing the impetus for Mitchell going to Sparks that night, where he met Jackson. Whoa, let’s not go overboard.