Playing for Keeps (Glasgow Lads Book 2) (39 page)

“Christ, mate. I’ve never seen anyone in such agony look so fucking happy.”

“You’re right on both counts.” Putting a hand to his aching lower back, Fergus leaned over to push down his left sock. His calf bore a cluster of bruises in the pattern of Reece Sinclair’s spikes.

“Here.” Colin scooted over to make room, then patted the bench between them. “I might as well be of use to someone.”

“Thanks.” Fergus propped his foot on the bench and let Colin carefully remove his shoes and socks. Most of the lads around them had stripped down to their briefs, comparing wounds like soldiers after a battle. Shona and Heather were already in their street clothes, having taken advantage of the ladies-shower-first rule.

“We missed you on the pitch today,” he told Colin.

“Not as much as I missed
being
on the pitch. Watching from the stands is a lot harder than playing. Nearly boaked my guts out twice in that first half.”

Fergus could see the stinging disappointment behind the lad’s weak smile. “You’ll be back in your place before you know it.”

“Not so simple, is it? I’ll have to compete with Evan if I want to be attacking midfielder.”

“Or you could simply step aside and acknowledge his natural superiority.”

Colin looked at him, aghast, then realized Fergus was baiting him. “I’ll compete and I’ll win, ya knob,” he said, throwing Fergus’s sock in his face.

“Johnny!” Katie’s shower shoes slapped the soles of her feet as she ran into the dressing room. She hugged John from behind, her wet hair dripping onto his shirt. “Welcome to the Warriors Victory Cave! Sorry about the reek.”

“What reek?” he said.

“You’re kidding, right? Dirty socks, sweaty jock straps, armpits that smell like they’re harboring dead rats?”

John took a deep whiff and let out a happy sigh. “Smells like men.”

“Ugh, exactly.” She pushed him away. “This place could turn anyone into a lesbian.”

“She’s right.” Colin sprayed antiseptic on Fergus’s scraped knees. “It smells like a monkey’s arse turned inside out. I pity the folk who clean this room after matches.”

Passing by on his way to the shower, Duncan snatched Max’s white football shirt off Fergus’s shoulder. “Is this their captain’s? We should burn it in effigy.”

“Fire’s too good for him.” Heather grabbed the shirt, crushing it in her fists. “Let’s all piss on it.”

Robert took it from her. “We’ll piss on it, then burn it. But first.” He tucked it under his arm and headed for the loo. “I hear they’re out of toilet paper.”

“Glad I’ve taught you all such exemplary sportsmanship,” Fergus said. A moment later, Max’s shirt hit the back of his head. “Thank you.”

John picked up the shirt and held it in front of his own chest. “Think it would fit me?”

For a moment, Fergus indulged in the satisfying image of fucking John in that shirt, bunching the word
Forbes
in his fist. “I think it’ll fit just fine.”

“Savages,” Colin said, apparently having a similar vision. He tossed the antiseptic spray to Fergus as he stood. “That’s me away, then. See youse at Liam’s party?”

“Eventually.” John took Colin’s vacated seat. “You know, I was thinking—”

“Hi,” came a voice beside them. Fergus looked up to see Evan, standing an awkward distance away, a towel wrapped about his waist, blond hair sweaty and tousled.

“Hi,” Fergus said.

“I just wanted to say thanks.” Evan turned to John. “To you.”

John looked puzzled. “For what?”

“For making this match happen. It’s helped me realize what’s really important and just how colossally I’ve fucked up.” He sighed. “If it weren’t for you, I’d still be in Belgium.”

“All right, then.” John seemed to suppress a laugh. “You’re welcome.”

As he watched Evan head to the showers, Fergus realized what had been missing since the end of the match. “My armband.”

“Where is it?” John asked.

“It must have flown off when I removed my shirt after the goal. Some spectator’s probably nicked it by now.”

John stood quickly. “I’ll go and find it for you.”

“No, don’t leave. I can buy a new one.”

“You’ll want it as a souvenir.”

Fergus took his hand and pulled him to sit again. “The only souvenir I want is right here.”

“But you cannae wear me,” John said with a coy smile.

“Oh, I can, and I will.” He leaned over and gave John a lingering kiss, making them both sigh.

John slid his hand behind Fergus’s neck. “I’ve missed this, reaching out and touching you like it was a completely natural thing.”

Fergus nuzzled John’s ear. “It is a completely natural thing.”

“You’re right. Why were we so unnatural for so long?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” John pulled back to look into Fergus’s eyes. “I don’t ever want to make those mistakes again. I don’t ever want to hurt you again.”

“But we will hurt each other, whether we want to or not. Everyone does. All we can promise is that the next time it happens, we won’t give up.”

John let out a breath of relief. “Well, now
that
I can promise.”

Fergus turned away to stuff his boots and socks into his kit bag, and because he was about to ask an awkward question. “In your email, you said you had to move out because your dad hated the one you loved. Did you mean—that is, were you referring to your mother?” It sounded even stupider out loud than in his head.

John burst into laughter that eclipsed the rest of the dressing-room noise. “Really? You think I’d use my goodbye-forever message to proclaim undying love for my mum?”

“Not really, I was just—”

“Fishing?”

“Yeah.” Fergus’s face went all tingly around the edges with embarrassment and anticipation. “So, then—”

“It’s you I love, ya big numpty.” John turned Fergus’s chin to look at him. “I love you.”

Fergus gazed at John, at his deep brown eyes wide and sincere, at his dark hair sweeping his brows, at his trembling lower lip just begging to be kissed and nipped and licked. That lip would have to wait, but only for a few more seconds.

“I love you too, John. I need you. I want you with me every day and night. We’ll take them one at a time, but in the end, I want them to add up to a lifetime.”

Before John could respond, Fergus kissed him—hard enough to show his own passion but softly enough to detect any resistance or hesitation.

There was none. John kissed him back with the confidence and the bold, open heart Fergus adored. They pressed closer, then closer still, each draping his left thigh over the other’s right as they straddled the bench. Fergus drank in the sensation of John’s hands on his bare skin, skin that was waking up after a fortnight’s slumber. He vowed never to let another day pass without this life-giving touch, this soul-strengthening kiss.

“Fuck’s sake, lads,” Liam said as he passed from the direction of the showers, his bare wet feet smacking the floor. “Have you forgotten you’re on sacred Celtic victory ground?”

To Fergus’s relief, John laughed. But then he said, “Have
you
forgotten this is the home side’s dressing room? So Celtic would’ve been celebrating over there.” He jutted his thumb toward the hallway, then looked at Fergus. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right.” The sooner they joked about their rivalry, the better. “Tell me, when was it Rangers last played a match here, or in any Premier League stadium?”

“Och.” John put his hands to his heart. “The shame, it burns.”

Fergus looked around to see the dressing room had nearly emptied while they’d been snogging. “I’ll be right back.” He untangled his legs from John’s. “Need a shower.”

“Wait.” John swept his gaze down Fergus’s body, then licked that delectable lower lip of his. “Ask me to join you.”

Fergus’s cock stiffened at the thought, but he tried to keep his wits. “Perhaps, if no one’s in there. But we’d have to be fast.”

“We’re moving in together after four weeks of dating. I think we can do fast.”

Liam cleared his throat. “If anyone catches you, that’ll be the dramatic headline, not our miraculous last-minute draw.” Then he tilted his head toward the shower room. “So I’ll make sure no one catches you.”

“You’d do that for us?”

“What are best gay friends for?” Liam flashed a grin. “Besides, it’ll settle yous down before my party. Now gonnae go and be quick about it. Five minutes.”

Fergus led John back to the empty shower room. With no time for slow, sensuous undressing, they yanked off their clothes and tossed them onto the table beside the therapeutic tub, then stepped under the shower nozzles.

“I actually do need to get clean.” Fergus reached for the soap, but John batted his hand away.

“I’ll do that while you wash your hair. Ready, go!”

Fergus turned on the water. He groaned as he shampooed, wishing he could savor the hot spray and John’s soap-slicked hands on his aching muscles. John caressed every inch of Fergus’s body, quickly but gently, taking care with the cuts and bruises.

In half a minute, Fergus was pure clean and ready to get filthy. He groped the bulging muscles of John’s shoulders, arms, and back, greedy for all he’d missed these last weeks. Kissing hard, they ground their hips together, the head of John’s cock nudging Fergus’s balls from below.

As Fergus bent his knees to equalize their heights, he felt the beginnings of a back spasm. “Ow,” he said, straightening again.

“Here.” John guided him to sit on the edge of the therapeutic tub adjacent to the showers. Still standing beneath the shower spray, he moved between Fergus’s thighs. “There.” John wrapped his hands around both their cocks, aligned now that their heights were nearly the same. “Just hold on and let me take care of us both.”

As John began to stroke them together, Fergus clutched the edge of the tub and wrapped his ankles around John’s legs. The two of them were so different, right down to their cocks—his own long and thin and John’s…well, not short by any means, but standard length, and so, so thick.

Yet the beauty of them lay precisely in their differences—in their lives, in their minds, and in their bodies, where now, every inch of them was setting the other off.

As their breath quickened, Fergus kissed John again and reached a hand around to cup his arse. Then his fingers slipped between John’s cheeks, finding his warm, inviting hole. When John gave an affirmative moan against his mouth, Fergus slid one finger inside him.

John went rigid, then began to pump harder, thighs quaking. “Oh God, I’m gonnae come.”

Those words alone sent Fergus there as well. “Me too,” he gasped.

“We’ll come together, aye?”

“Aye.” Bracing his feet on the floor, he probed deeper, until John’s knees began to buckle.

“Ah, Fergus…” he said in a near sob. They held each other up as their control slipped away and their cocks pulsed as one.

Fergus looked down to see their cum spill over John’s fists, mingling into one thick flood. The sight made him come even harder, which he hadn’t thought possible. The electric-hot sensations ricocheted throughout his body until he was sure his heart would seize up and stop forever.

As their breathing slowed and consciousness returned, Fergus wrapped his arms about John’s waist, knowing he’d never let go again.

Not for anything.

S
IX
DAYS
LATER

“Please tell me that’s all the books.” Liam dumped the box on Fergus’s bedroom floor with a thud.

“That’s all.” With a mix of dismay and bemusement, John eyed his pile of boxes beside the small bookcase in Fergus’s bedroom—which was now
their
bedroom. “I don’t think they’ll fit.”

“Now he works that out.” Liam folded his arms and glared at Fergus. “Your wee man here has spatial-perception issues.”

Fergus opened the box at his feet. “This could work. With some L-brackets and wood screws, I could build new shelves from these big hardcovers.” He looked up at John. “Unless you think you’ll read them again.”

“You’ll not turn David Hume into a shelf!” He knelt beside Fergus and pawed through his first-year philosophy tomes. “Thomas Aquinas, on the other hand…”

Fergus grinned. “That’s
Saint
Thomas Aquinas, you filthy heathen.”

“Ooh, I love when you call me heathen.” John draped himself over the box of books. “Take me now, right here atop all this wisdom.”

“I’m gonnae be sick,” Liam said. “This is all your crap moved, right, John? No more trips to Ibrox?”

“We’re finished, which means it’s beer time!” John leaped to his feet, feeling his energy returning. He could hear voices rising at the other end of the flat, where a dozen of their mates were revving up the housewarming party.

He grabbed Fergus’s hand as they wove through a maze of unpacked cardboard boxes in the hallway. In the living room, the stereo was already pulsing with music and the game system was pulsing with Mario Kart.
 

Abebi passed them on her way to her room, holding a lemon fizzy drink. “I’m almost finished!” she whispered with a mischievous grin, though John and Fergus both knew what her secret surprise was.

Two hours later, weary of entertaining guests, John and Fergus tucked themselves into a corner, swaying slowly to a remix of the first song they’d danced to that night in the club. Now, as then, it felt to John like they were the only two people in the world, despite the loud and colorful evidence to the contrary.

A crunch under his foot made him open his eyes. He looked down to see what was left of a Wotsit—prawn cocktail variety, it appeared—leaving its cheesy-pink imprint on the black area rug.

Fergus tensed. “You think that’ll stain?”

“Crumbs don’t stain, you know that. I’ll Hoover it in the morning.”

“What if someone spills their drink atop it?”

John kissed his hand and let go of him. “Fine, I’ll Hoover it now.”

“Really?”

“No.” Instead, John went into the kitchen in search of beer. As he opened the refrigerator, he noticed Colin and Lord Andrew having a heated political discussion near the sink. Normally he’d have joined in, but he wanted to get back to Fergus. Besides, there was a certain…spark between those two lads.