Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,16

time there’s a noticeable reluctance.

Crash’s full lips form a pout that’s been known to have me do unthinkable things.

Like join him in karaoke.

I mean, I like classic Elton John songs as much as the next guy, but that doesn’t mean I want to belt out “Tiny Dancer” on stage with him after he wins first place in a drag show I drove three hours to see him in.

I will openly admit that is not something I pictured myself doing last summer.

My crush slightly sways his figure back and forth. “Pretty please.”

Rather than continue to completely deny him, I cave. Again. “My feet.”

A dramatic exasperated sigh is expelled. “Ugh. Fine. Fuck it. At least then I’m not technically in here all alone.”

I lightly chortle at his inability to accept compromise and move myself to stand on the first step in the pool.

Distance.

I need distance.

Distance is crucial in keeping my composure.

I need it for my sanity.

I need to keep my unresolved feelings of love that have been needlessly intensified – thanks to Gillette and his shit-kicking nature – as physically far away from me as possible.

I’m gonna add a different type of nut juice to his next protein shake for doing this to me.

I hope he knows that.

Crash disappears below the surface only to reappear underneath the waterfall. It cascades down his extraordinarily long neck that’s stretched to one side, calling to my attention to follow its journey. I watch the liquid splash the pink ballet shoes tattoo on his honey beige shoulders. A single slipper dangles on each one, yet the two are connected at the nape of his neck where the strings tangle together. A place where I want to plant my fingers to help keep them tangled together. I let my observation of the water’s exploration resume, which results in my mouth cracking open in anticipation of lapping up the droplets that are dribbling towards his dark shaded nipples while my cock thumps in outrage of the confines it was invited to abandon.

Yup.

Distance keeping is a fucking must.

I fold my hands in front of my crotch to block its hardened state and shamelessly watch Crash run his fingers through his jet-black locks.

He’s fucking beautiful.

Lean fit frame from hours upon hours of dancing.

Face flawless with or without makeup.

Gray eyes that glow even in the darkness of night.

He’s constructed like a timeless poem that could be appreciated by even the most reluctant readers.

How could I not devote my life to defending something so priceless?

Crash steps forward, distancing himself from the waterfall, and wipes away the drops that are on his face. “You remember that one summer we each caught our parents fucking in our own pools?”

The boner killer is very much fucking welcomed.

“Yeah.” I hastily nod through my own laughter. “Your parents thought you were gonna be gone longer on your date-”

“It was a total bomb. My fault for assuming dating a public school skeeze would lead me to my dream Channing Tatum moment.”

“And, my parents were making so much noise, it woke me the fuck up.” Feeling the deflation of my dick, further relaxes me. “The very by the textbook conversation about couples needing to keep their relationship fresh and interesting from my dad wasn’t nearly as painful as the explanation of what can happen to the female sex drive as a woman ages. That…that made me wish I didn’t have a game the next morning, so I could’ve just drank until I straight up blacked out.”

“Blackout drunk isn’t nearly as soothing as everyone makes it out to be.”

I prepare to investigate about the details of when he was that way and why didn’t I know before this very fucking minute but am unfortunately interrupted.

“You know what’s fucking amazing, though?”

You.

Knowing you’re naked.

Knowing you’re naked and that if I just glance down long enough I could probably see the one type of protein I’d be more than happy to wake up having every morning.

My cock stirs again forcing me to press my palm harshly against it in hopes of shutting the shit down. “Hm?”

“The fact that our parents are still that into each other.” An almost wistful look crosses his everchanging expression. “We didn’t catch them with their secretaries or the neighbor’s daughter or the Amazon delivery dude…We caught them with the person they married. Like it’s fucking amazing to me after all that time…after all the bullshit there’s no doubt they’ve gone through…that they not only wanna still be together, but they are together. That’s fucking miracle shit.”

I don’t know