Caught Running (13 page)

Brandon nodded and followed the directions to the bathroom, where he pushed the door shut and sat down hard on the commode, bone weary. Five hours of sleep a night at best was not going to cut it, he could tell already. He dragged his hands over his face, then leaned and turned on the shower before stripping down, hanging the damp clothes on the empty towel bar, and leaving his shoes on the rug. He pushed aside the shower curtain and climbed in, groaning as the hot water hit cool, clammy skin.

In the hall, Jake stood unmoving. What in God's name was he doing? What was he expecting to come of this potential disaster? He could already see that he was going to have to either start distancing himself from Brandon, which was nearly impossible until the season was over, or just—no. He couldn't act on it. That was unthinkable. Wasn't it? He shook his head and forced himself to move. First he went into the guest bedroom, his old room, and made certain there were fresh sheets on the bed. Then he went into his own room and began to go through his closet slowly, looking for something suitable for the other man to wear. Jake listened to the water running as he laid out a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Giving the man boxers was ... was it inappropriate? He would have given Troy or Jonathan some to sleep in. He sighed and fished out a pair of boxers and threw them onto the bed with the other clothes, then sat on the bench at the end of the bed and began to untie his shoes, moving sluggishly as the day caught up to him.

Staying in the shower a little longer than his usual one-minute wash down, Brandon leaned on one arm to brace himself before he realized he was in danger of falling asleep standing up, still thinking about Jake in the rain. Brandon bit his lip. Dear God, this had to stop or he was going to be horribly obsessed. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, rubbing it harshly over his skin until he felt as dry as he could get, besides his hair being damp. Luckily, it was an extra-large bath towel—all the easier to wrap around Jake's extra-large frame, that evil little voice crowed—and Brandon banged his forehead a couple times against the wall before folding the towel around his hips and opening the door halfway, looking out into the bedroom.

Jake stood at the end of his bed, stripping off his soaked Under Armour with a little difficulty as his shoulder began to act up because of the cold and wet. He tossed the shirt to the ground in disgust when he finally got it over his head, and ran his hands through his short hair before realizing that the door had opened. “Hey,” he said in surprise, as if he hadn't quite expected Brandon to come back out. “I, uh, didn't know what you liked to sleep in, so.... “Jake blushed a little, gathered up the entire bundle from the bed and walked it over to Brandon, averting his eyes as he handed him the clothing.

Brandon took the clothes, murmuring a thanks under his breath. He saw how Jake was holding his arm and shoulder as still as possible. “I'll pull these on and grab the wet stuff and get out of your way,” Brandon said, hoping a hot shower would help the other man before he was in more pain.

"No hurry,” Jake told the man softly as he turned away. He hesitated there, unsure of what to do for a moment. Finally he headed out of the bedroom, still in his soaking wet gray away-game pants, and he dragged down the hall, thumped down the stairs, and trudged into the kitchen in search of his pills.

Brandon watched Jake walk away, and he was far too tired to make himself look away from the other man's ass in those tight pants. Instead he closed his eyes and turned around. Back in the bathroom, he dropped the towel and pulled on the boxers and T-shirt, considering the jogging pants. Now pretty warm, he left them folded on the sink. He gathered all the wet stuff and his shoes and headed down the hall toward the stairs, figuring he could get a bag or something to put it all in.

Jake stood at the counter with his eyes closed, pill bottle in one hand, edge of the granite counter top gripped in the other. He could deal with sharp pains and injuries. It was this throbbing and aching shit that wore him down. He heard the soft pad of feet behind him and opened his eyes, placing the bottle back in the cabinet where it belonged and closing the door carefully. “Find everything you need?” Jake asked in what he hoped was a normal voice.

"Yeah,” Brandon answered softly, seeing the strain in Jake's body and hearing it echoed in his voice. “I was going to grab a bag for these. Should I pick any room to crash in? Don't want to be in your way. I'm sure you're at least as wiped as I am."

"Yeah, I made up the bed in my old room for you,” Jake answered as he turned around slowly and grabbed the half-empty Gatorade bottle on the counter. One of the boys had left it on the bus, but Jake had never been picky. He popped the pills and washed them down with a gulp of the sharp lemon-flavored drink and then shivered all over. “I've got some grocery bags,” he offered as he shivered again and his jaw tried to lock.

"Okay,” Brandon said, wincing in sympathy. “Jake, is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, hurting just looking at him.

"Help?” Jake asked in confusion, momentarily distracted by the very thin material of Brandon's borrowed clothing. Jake wondered if he himself looked as good in his clothing as Brandon did.

Knowing exactly where the muscles ran, Brandon lifted his hand to slide his thumb along the knotted shoulder. “You're hurting and protecting your shoulder, but it's still seizing up,” he said evenly.

Jake tensed involuntarily and quivered at the touch. “Yeah, it, uh, it aches sometimes,” he mumbled, trying to decide where to let his eyes settle. “I have to remind myself not to favor it,” he added as he desperately tried to think of something to say.

"You've got some liniment, right? Go get in the shower, and I'll rub it in so you can get some rest,” Brandon offered before he could think better of it. He knew, intellectually, what had to have happened to Jake's shoulder for it to act like that, how the muscles and ligaments could be stretched and abused, torn and pinched. He knew how all the layers of muscle overlapped, what would hurt where the most, what would cause the worst of the knotting. It was simple anatomy.

Jake frowned worriedly at him but nodded obediently in the end. The truth was that he would do anything if it offered relief for the parts of him that hurt like they did. Brandon nodded and dropped his hand. “Go on, then,” the science teacher urged. He could find the bag himself or drape the clothes over the bar in the meantime.

Jake licked his lips and set the Gatorade down, stepping to the side and around Brandon as he headed for the bedroom and the shower. “Bags are in the pantry,” he called over his shoulder as he undid his belt. “Actually, just leave ‘em on the counter, we'll throw them in the wash,” he added. “Game tomorrow."

Nodding, Brandon laid the pile next to the sink, taking a long minute to peer out the window at the rain. He let his mind wander as he heard the water come on upstairs. Game tomorrow. Late afternoon home game, which meant he wouldn't have to be in too much of a hurry the next morning. He needed a good rest, and he was going to
have
to take one.

Jake stepped into the still steamy shower and groaned softly as the scalding water hit his skin. Just one night with Brandon down the hall. He could do that without spazzing out, right?

Right.

He showered quickly, letting the hot water warm his cold body and loosen tight muscles. When he'd gotten all the benefit the shower could offer, he turned off the water and hesitated briefly before getting out and patting himself down with a soft towel. He pressed his lips tightly together and then hissed a curse as he realized that he'd forgotten to grab any extra clothing before getting into the shower. Wrapping the oversize towel around his hips, he stepped out of the steamy room hesitantly.

Brandon was still mentally wandering when the water shut off. He took a few steps toward the stairs, but stopped and went back to the fridge to dig through it for something decent for Jake to drink. Beer. Beer. Coke. Beer.
Ah ha!
Gatorade. He snagged a couple of bottles and started down the hall.

Jake rummaged through one of his drawers for some more boxers and another T-shirt as he clutched at his towel. He felt his shoulders tensing back up as soon as he heard Brandon approaching. Fuck, he was going to have to shake this. It was getting ridiculous.

Stopping on the threshold, Brandon shook the bottles. “I brought Gatorade. It'll help with the muscle spasms,” he said, though he knew full well how inane it sounded. But he was too busy trying to keep his eyes off the large amount of lightly furred, muscled skin that filled his vision.

"Urgh,” Jake responded, accepting a bottle. “The horse liniment is in the drawer there,” he murmured as he twisted off the top and pointed to the bedside table closest to them.

Brandon sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out the drawer. As soon as he looked, he knew he was on thin ice. A small rounded bottle of lubricant rolled on top of a stack of magazines that just happened to be face down, so Brandon couldn't read the titles without deliberately looking. There was an accordion of unopened condoms, a large tube of Thermaflex, a television remote of some kind, a dog-eared James Patterson mystery. Nothing all that shocking. Brandon pulled out the Thermaflex, revealing a couple of photographs, one half over the other, and he chanced a glance. The first was Jake and another man with their arms around each other, looking like they were yelling at the camera. The surroundings looked like they were smack in the middle of a Mardi Gras parade. The other photo was black and white, artistic—and provocative. Brandon pushed the drawer shut after a few-seconds delay.

Jake stiffened as he remembered the various items he kept in that drawer, too late to stop Brandon from going into it. He watched the man's reaction carefully. There wasn't really anything in there that would scream ‘Coach Likes Dick,’ but you just never knew with the smart ones. They thought differently than most of Jake's acquaintances. They thought in terms of the bigger picture. He stood watching Brandon expectantly.

Shaking the bottle, the science teacher looked up and gestured for Jake to sit down in front of him. While he could read whatever he wanted into those photos, there was really nothing at all damning about them. Not even close. He could hope, but that would only lead to things that just really shouldn't happen. Like getting even more obsessed. He squeezed some liniment onto his fingers. “Right shoulder, correct?” he asked evenly.

"Yes,” Jake answered softly as he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at Brandon expectantly. He was actually glad for the towel. Somehow it felt more like something to hide behind than clothing.

Brandon spread the liniment lightly along the line of Jake's shoulder. “Is the damage in the scalene, the trapezius or the deltoid?” he asked before starting to rub in the gel.

"It wasn't muscle so much as tendons and ligaments,” the coach said. “I had bone spurs from overuse. By the time anyone realized I wasn't just complaining when I said I hurt, it was too late to do much more than clean it out and send me on my way,” he rambled as Brandon's hands moved over his skin. “But mostly it hurts right along here,” he added in answer to the question as he traced the line of the pain along the front of his shoulder with his finger.

Brandon rubbed lightly at first, slowly strengthening the grip of his fingers until the liniment was starting to soak in. He traced his finger along the same line. “This is the coracoacromial ligament. It holds together the coracoid process, the acromion—” He slid his finger along Jake's collarbone, “and the head of the humerus,” he completed, rubbing in the rest of the liniment on the ball of Jake's shoulder. “I'm sure it was very painful."

"It was,” Jake murmured as the names just flowed through his ears. He concentrated instead on the warm hands on him, the familiar scent of his own shampoo and soap on a man he was entirely unfamiliar with. He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes as the liniment began to make them water. His skin grew warm under Brandon's hands as he continued to press against the shoulder muscles, rubbing, then smoothing, rubbing, then smoothing, working to push the lactic acid out of the area so the muscles could calm and rest.

The motion was repetitive, and Brandon was caught by the heat radiating off the man next to him. Jake had closed his eyes so Brandon took the opportunity to study his features closely. The muscles of his jaw were jumping as he ground his teeth, but his face was otherwise calm and almost tranquil.

Jake had obviously done this many times over the years, let himself be doctored. He shivered violently as the cool air licked at the liniment on his skin. Brandon lifted one hand under the man's jaw, sliding his fingers along the back of his jawbone to rub at the juncture. “Relax,” he urged, trying to stop the uncomfortable-looking grinding. “You relax one place, tense up another,” he muttered, trying not to let the concern be too evident in his voice. “How do you get any sleep?"

Jake smiled crookedly and opened his eyes. “The pills and alcohol help,” he answered in a rumbling murmur.

The odd moment of tension lightening, Brandon shook his head. “You ought to get yourself a masseuse and a hot tub,” he suggested, rubbing at the last of the liniment and wishing it hadn't been absorbed so quickly.

"Hell, do you work weekends?” Jake asked with a small smile as he cut his gaze to meet Brandon's eyes. They were an odd mix of green and blue—almost a sea green—that Jake wasn't sure he'd ever noticed, and he forgot what else he was going to say as he looked at the man.

The corners of Brandon's eyes crinkled in amusement as he thought about what he would want to do with Jake's body spread out in front of him.
Fuck
. Figuratively, hell. Literally.
Down, boy
. He's never going to be interested. “I'm sure something can be arranged,” Brandon answered without censoring his thoughts. He swallowed and scrambled. “After all, not too many guys with a degree in anatomy and physiology running around, are there?"