Home and Away (32 page)

“Rupert,” he groaned, and just the tiny vibrations of his voice were enough to make Rupert whimper.

He ran both hands over Callum’s back, his hips, trying to soothe himself as much as Callum. He would do this slowly, he reminded himself sternly, or he wouldn’t do it at all.

Callum, however, had other ideas. He took deep breaths, each one let out longer and slower than the last, his spine melting into a deep bow before he nudged back, just a little, and gasped.

Rupert’s hand clenched his hip, his fingers settling over the bruises he’d already left there, and held Callum still.

“You’re not ready,” he told him in a hoarse voice.

“I am,” Callum vowed, nudging back again.

And, well, Rupert was only human. He met Callum’s press with a gentle thrust, staring down, wide-eyed, as his shaft slipped further into Callum’s body, unable to tear his eyes from where Callum was stretched around him.

“Oh god,” he muttered, meeting Callum again. And again.

The sight never became less entrancing. He forced himself to look away, only to see Callum staring into the distance sightlessly with one wide eye, his open mouth hanging open.

Rupert’s hips snapped forward, his hands clenched tight, and he sank in to the hilt. Callum’s legs gave out beneath him until he lay pressed fully to the bed, his knees by his ribs.

Goddamn flexible goalies.

His ran his hands up Callum’s ribs and under, to hook over Callum’s clavicles, his face pressed to Callum’s back.

He wished desperately he were taller, so that he could kiss Callum, get as lost in his mouth and tongue as he was in every other way lost in Callum right then.

Callum sighed beneath him. “That would be nice,” he murmured.

Rupert wasn’t certain which parts he actually said out loud. He rolled his hips forward, reveling in the noises spilling from Callum’s lips.

“Maybe next time,” Rupert promised.

“Next time?” Callum gasped, his head spinning. “Please, Rupert. You have to finish
this
time. Soon
.”

Callum sounded as desperate as he felt, but he didn’t care. The stretch, the feeling of being full, of being
filled
, was exquisite. Every single one of his nerve endings was dancing with joy, but none more than in his ass, the heavy presence of Rupert inside him, the burn of his rim around Rupert’s shaft.

He couldn’t remember anymore what he thought this would be like, but this is definitely, definitely, better.

Except for the part where Rupert was
not moving
.

Callum shoved the pillow he’d been clinging to away, shoved all the pillows away, and pressed his chest to the cool cotton beneath, his arms spread, his hands on either side of his head gathering up great fistfuls of the sheets. He used those anchors, and his knees, to grind up against Rupert, his cock dragging against the bed at the same time.

Rupert’s mouth latched onto the base of his neck and sucked, hard, the pain a perfect point to focus on as a host of other sensations stormed through his body. Callum continued the relentless swivel of his hips until Rupert’s cock brushed his prostate. He jerked and cried out.

“Rupert,
please
.”

Rupert nodded against his back, apparently beyond words, and shifted against him. Callum hummed and twitched and tried to figure out what the fuck Rupert was doing, until Rupert planted his knees and slowly pulled his hips back.

“Oh, Jesus,” Callum groaned. “Oh fuck. Oh oh oh oh…”

Whatever other nonsense was about to escape his mouth was cut off when Rupert thrust forward, their hips hitting with enough force to send a shockwave through Callum. All the air left his lungs with a fierce grunt.

“
Do that again,”
he begged.

And Rupert did. God, did he ever. Callum let go a stream of stupid noises and pleas and god knew what else. Every slow drag out made him shudder, every grunt-inducing thrust perfect. He rolled his hips, meeting Rupert’s harder, faster, until they slammed together. Rupert’s hands slid from around Callum’s shoulders to rub down over his arms, their fingers threading as they moved together, against one another, rolling and gasping. The weight on Callum’s back anchored him, pressing his cock against the mattress, the friction just on the right side of too much. And yet not enough.

Callum wasn’t the only one making noise. Rupert chanted his name, telling him he was bloody beautiful and that he loved him and so many things Callum wanted to hear.
Needed
to hear, though he could hardly process them, let alone
believe
them.

He was dizzy with need and overwhelmed with gratitude.
Thank god
this was happening. That
this
was how he learned what it meant to be intimate. To make love. He hadn’t let some stranger take this from him in a bathroom stall, and now he knew why. He’d pretended it was because guys saw a man his size and figured he’d only top, but that was more of the bullshit he’d been telling himself, protecting himself with, for years. Some part of Callum’s fucked-up, lonely, stupid brain had held this back. For this. For now.

For Rupert.

Rupert hitched just a little higher, and the next thrust bounced over Callum’s prostate. He let out a wild, uncontrollable, and hopefully very manly squeak.

Rupert hit it again.

Callum groaned. “Yes, yes, just that, just th—”

His orgasm wasn’t so much a trip and fall as being slammed into the boards, blind-sided, without pads on. Suddenly, it was just
there.

He roared, his voice breaking as Rupert thrust again, his movement jerky, his hands gripping Callum’s until the feeling was cut off from his fingers. Callum shook with the force of his release, full-body shudders that rattled him to the core. Each time Rupert hit his prostate, he let loose another jet of hot and wet against his belly, another cry, another shudder, until he was wrung out, empty, his body still tightening in almost painful pulses with nothing left to give.

He held onto Rupert’s hands through it all, held on tighter as he opened his mouth to beg Rupert to stop, but then Rupert thrust deep and ground against him, burying his face between Callum’s shoulders.

Callum released one of Rupert’s hands to reach over his shoulder and curl his fingers into Rupert’s hair, hoping to offer some kind of anchor for Rupert as he’d done for Callum.

Rupert collapsed on top of him, his full weight pressing Callum down into the bed. He was actually really heavy, Callum realized, and had been holding a lot of his weight on his knees and elbows after all. Now he was motionless, draped over Callum and trying to catch his breath. Callum’s ass was going from turned-on pleasure-center to well-fucked and sore, but he would have happily lain here, like this, forever.

He couldn’t begin to guess how long they stayed like that. He felt Rupert softening inside him and thought nothing of it until Rupert suddenly jerked to life against his back, his hand jamming between their bodies.

“Sorry,” Rupert warned, before slowly pulling out.

And okay,
ow.
But also,
wow.
Callum was a hockey player. He’d always had a hard time separating what hurt from what felt good, and now, more than ever, it
all
felt good.

Rupert flopped onto the bed beside Callum, less graceful than Callum had ever seen him. His hair stood on end, his cheeks red with beard burn and shiny with exertion, and his lips swollen. Perfect, prim Rupert, was a big, sexy
mess.

“I like you like this,” Callum confessed, running a hand through Rupert’s hair.

Rupert blinked at him, bemused.

Callum grinned. “You okay, duchess?”

Rupert’s only answer was to lean in and kiss Callum.

They lay like that, making out, until the alarm on Callum’s phone went off and it was time to return to the arena.

As much as Rupert wanted to have his hands all over Callum at any given moment, he at least still tried to be mindful of who was around and might see them. Callum either wasn’t paying any attention to that, or simply didn’t care.

It felt good to hold his hand. To sit close. To smile at him and know that whatever look on his face was probably embarrassing, if the constant eye rolls coming from Christian were any indication. But it also felt terribly dangerous. Both for Rupert’s heart, and for Callum’s reputation.

There were no out players in hockey. Not openly, publicly out, though Alexei assured Callum often that there were degrees of knowledge and secrets. Callum seemed fascinated by these stories, but Rupert wasn’t sure how much of it he was considering applying to himself. He spoke of Denver as if it were another planet, and threaded his fingers through Rupert’s while they ate with the boys as if he hadn’t a care in the world. As if his name wasn’t known in millions of households across at least two countries. Or his face familiar to many people around him, even if they couldn’t quite place him.

Some of Rupert’s most out-and-proud ex-boyfriends hadn’t felt the need to touch him as much. At home, at the office, at the grocery store. And not all of those touches necessarily would tip someone off, but if someone saw them together enough, could put all those touches together, well…it was safe to say Callum wasn’t putting the ‘b’ in subtle.

 And if Callum was being obvious in public, he was downright shameless amongst their friends. They returned to the arena after their
nooner
, as Reese had called it, and Callum couldn’t stop grinning. Not that Rupert was much better, but honestly, anyone who saw Callum would know he’d just had really fantastic sex, even if he hadn’t marched into the conference room, yanked out his chair, and proceeded to sit ever-so-gingerly. His wince when his bum had touched the chair was so blatant,
Jack
fucking blushed.

Rupert darted out of the room and to his office, cheeks hot, smile unrepentant.

Later that night, Callum flopped down on the couch and again winced mightily, setting Alexei into hysterics while Mike smiled sympathetically and Rupert practically dove over the back of said couch to distract Christian. The boy was young, not stupid, and with the internet at his disposal, Rupert couldn’t be sure what he knew or understood. Likely things most of them hadn’t had a clue about until much later in their lives.

They got into a routine after that. Every night, they put Oliver to bed, then sat with Christian to watch television. Or play a game. Or just talk. Christian was a bright and articulate young man, far too old for his age, and getting increasingly more comfortable in his new family. He still looked sad sometimes, but he was talking about it, even talking about his father sometimes, and getting stronger every day.

Then Christian came home from his skating lesson one afternoon, storming through the door ahead of Callum and Oliver and blowing past Rupert without a word.

Rupert looked to Callum, who shrugged. “He was like that when we got there to pick him up.”

Rupert bided his time until Oliver was in bed, and the three of them were slouched on the couch together, Callum’s arm around Christian’s shoulders, his other hand laced with Rupert’s as they watched television. Christian often sought to be close to Callum, in particular, though he would lean into Rupert, or throw his arm around Oliver, too. He was a tactile boy, in need of physical reassurance of their presence, Rupert suspected. Tonight that seemed especially so, as he practically burrowed into Callum’s side.

Rupert turned off the television at the end of the episode. Christian looked at him warily. Normally they would watch for a bit longer before calling it a night.

“What happened today to upset you?” Rupert asked.

“Nothing.” Christian studiously examined his hands where they lay clenched in his lap.

Callum frowned at the top of Christian’s head. “Come on, bud. Maybe we can help.”

Christian’s huff of laughter was an achingly jaded scoff. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He took a deep breath and tried to give them a reassuring smile. “It’s fine. No big deal.”

“Then tell us what it is,” Rupert cajoled.

Christian appeared to do some internal battle, while Callum rubbed his arm encouragingly. Finally, he sighed.

“It’s nothing. Really. A bunch of my friends saw you drop me off this morning, and they wanted to know who you were,” he said, looking at Rupert. “I didn’t really think about it and I told them how I’m living with you, and, of course, they wanted to know why.”

Rupert’s heart sank. “Okay. What did you tell them?”

Christian shrugged. “I lied. I said my dad was having some issues and I was just staying with you for a little while.”

“Well, that’s mostly true,” Rupert offered.

Christian’s eyes shot to Rupert’s. “But I can stay, right? I mean, it’s not just going to be for a little while, is it?”

Rupert grabbed Christian’s hands in one of his. “Yes. Yes, of course. As long as you want or need, okay? We’ll always be here—this will always be your home.”

Callum’s hand squeezed Rupert’s painfully when he said “we”, but Rupert pushed on. He and Oliver
would
always be there, and there was little any of them could do about the fact that Callum would not. Christian was aware Callum was due back in Denver at the end of the summer.

“Okay,” Christian said, settling against Callum again.

“So what had you so upset?” Rupert asked.

“I kind of wanted to tell them the truth.”

“But you didn’t?”

Christian frowned. “I don’t want to lose my friends.”

Rupert rubbed his thumb over the back of Christian’s hand. “Are you sure that’s what would happen?”

“I don’t know. What if the whole school finds out? Even if my friends are cool, that doesn’t mean everyone else will be. I figure most people are like my dad.”

“I sincerely hope not,” Rupert said honestly. “But there will be some people who are jerks.”

“Yeah, there will,” Christian said, and Rupert despaired at how very certain he sounded.

“And how will you handle that?”

“Ignore them, I guess.”

“Right,” Rupert agreed. “You should be proud of who you are. You’re a great student, a brilliant skater, and a good friend. It shouldn’t matter to anyone if you’re gay.”

“But it will.”

“Sadly, yes, but those people aren’t worth your time.”

“It just seems easier, you know? If I don’t tell anyone, if they don’t know, they can’t hurt me.” Christian looked up at Callum with wide, trusting eyes. “That’s what you do, right?”

Callum swallowed and stared down at Christian’s open, earnest expression, hearing Rupert’s sharply indrawn breath.

“No, I—”

“You said I could never tell anyone about you and Rupert. I heard you tell Alexei that no one could ever know, except your close friends here. Your family.”

Callum couldn’t breathe past the boulder lodged in his chest. God, he wanted to deny it. With all his heart, he wanted to lie. Again. A bigger, more horrible lie than all the ones before it, just to hide the terrible truth.

“Yeah, kiddo. I said that. And you’re right,” he admitted, surprised his voice came out evenly. Flat, even. His heart broke a little at the look of complete understanding and faith on Christian’s face. Such a smart goddamn kid, so full of potential and hope, and looking to Callum to learn how to make good decisions. And boy, he’d come to the wrong place. “But I do it wrong.”

The words hung in the air around them.

Christian’s face fell. “What? Why?”

Rupert squeezed his hand. “Callum, that’s not—”

“No,” he said, cutting off Rupert. “Christian’s right. I don’t tell anyone. Worse, I lie about it.”

Christian looked at Callum like he’d run over his dog.

“I made a bad choice. A series of bad choices a long time ago that I didn’t even have the sense to regret until much later. Then it was too late to change them. Or I thought it was.”

He shook his head. He didn’t know how to explain that fifteen years ago, the world had been different. That
he’d
been different. But he’d also been years older than Christian was now, and far less brave.

“Don’t look at me for a model of what to do, Christian. I’m the last person you should consider. Look at Rupert. See how he lives, what choices he makes. That’s what I do,” he admitted with a small smile. “He’s the brave one.”

“But, I don’t understand,” Christian said. “Why aren’t you brave?”

“I don’t know,” Callum confessed. “I wish I was,” he finished lamely.

“That’s bollocks,” Rupert snapped. “Christian,” Rupert said firmly, turning to the boy, “Callum did what he felt was right at the time. That’s what’s important. And in many ways, what he did
was
brave. How many men, do you suppose, give up their dreams of playing hockey because they are gay?”

Christian cocked his head. “Lots, I guess.”

“Yes, lots. Probably most, back when Callum was coming up through the ranks.”

“No need to make it sound like the Stone Age,” Callum muttered, his chest aching at Rupert’s defense.

“It
was
the Stone Age, Callum. A lot has changed in the years since. Now Christian can count on his school and many of his friends to stand behind him. To protect him. When I was in school, the teachers were often as cruel as the kids. The coaches even worse. If not for Reese…well, it’s the past. That’s what matters. Things are different now.” He ducked his head to meet Christian’s gaze. “You can tell anyone whatever you want. Or you can wait and see what you think a year from now. But don’t
not
tell your friends because you think it’s easier. Don’t lie to them about where you live and who you live with because you’re afraid. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and your real friends will stand by you.”

Callum nodded, so fucking grateful Rupert could help Christian and that he didn’t condemn Callum as most would. He had to swallow before he could speak. “That’s what I never figured out. Not until too late. I could have told people. And trusted them. But instead I lied, and that may have protected me on some level, but it also forced me to keep a distance, to push people away.”

“So it’s better to tell the truth?” Christian asked, clearly not convinced.

“Yes,” Callum stated firmly. “Yes, it’s better to tell the truth. To have
real
friends and to be yourself. You’re lucky, like I was, though I didn’t have the good sense to see it at the time. I had my family, and you have us to back you up no matter what. That’s a great place to start.”

Christian buried his face against Callum’s chest and hugged him tight. “Thanks,” he said, his voice scratchy. “You guys are the best family ever.”

Callum closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around Rupert and Christian, and wished like hell it could be true. That this could really be his family. He didn’t kid himself, though. There was only so much he could do from thousands of miles away.

Callum wasn’t sure how long he held them, his eyes screwed shut while he wished for something he couldn’t have.

“Callum, darling,” Rupert said quietly, his voice muffled against Callum’s neck. “Your bum is vibrating.”

“They can call back.”

Christian sat up, then quickly stood with his back to them, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. “Go ahead and answer it. I’m going to change into my pajamas.”

Callum and Rupert shared a look while Callum dug his phone from his pocket. There were so many things he needed to say to Rupert, none of which he could articulate, but he would be damned if he didn’t try.

“Hello?”

“Callum? It’s Bob. We need you back in Denver.”

Rupert was alarmed by how the color drain from Callum’s face. He squeezed Callum’s hand, his heart lodging in his throat when instead of squeezing back, Callum let go and stood.

“What’s up, Bob? It’s only July.”

Rupert slumped back on the couch. Bob was Callum’s coach. He didn’t have to listen to the rest of the conversation to know that their time was coming to an end, weeks earlier than planned.

As he’d anticipated, known, ignored, and denied would happen—Rupert felt very stupid. How had he let himself get so attached? Why had he let Oliver and Christian become so attached?

Callum paced around the living room, negotiating when he’d have to get on a plane—within a matter of days, it seemed—and Rupert realized he was a greater fool than he’d ever imagined.

He wouldn’t change a thing.

Were it not for Callum, there was a very real possibility that Rupert wouldn’t have Oliver and Christian here at all. Oliver might be shipped off to some boarding school or tucked away with a nanny somewhere, and Christian he never would have met.

Thanks to Callum, Rupert had fallen irrevocably in love three times this summer. How could he ever want to change a thing about that?

Callum looked physically ill as he stood staring out the window at the river beyond. His shoulders locked up around his ears, his fingertips white where they clenched his phone. Rupert wanted to be angry, wanted to tear the phone from his hand and yell at him that he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t break Rupert’s heart like this, but that would be hideously unfair to both of them.

Callum had always had to return to Denver. He’d never lied about that. He’d been more honest with Rupert than he’d been with anyone else, including possibly himself, in a very long time. Rupert wouldn’t punish him for that, or for the fact that his real life, his home, his job, were thousands of miles away.

Callum jumped when Rupert came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Callum’s waist. Rupert thought Callum would remain standing there, rigid, perhaps hoping Rupert would give up. Then a hand clamped over one of his, their fingers lacing, and Callum wilted, pressing into Rupert as his head fell, chin to chest, and he sagged in defeat.

Now Rupert did cry, but not for himself.

“Yeah. Okay. Tuesday. I’ll be in the training room by eight,” Callum said in a monotone and hung up.

He was silent for a long time.

“I have to go back,” he said, his voice hoarse, his body still curled in on itself.