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“Nothing,” Joq shook his head.
“I’m using protection,” George said.
Joq almost let the ‘yeah, I saw that,’ slip, but held it in.
“Good, I knew you would. Good.”
George shook his head, “Okay, well, I just wanted to tell you cos that’s what the agreement was. So, yeah,” and then he was walking out.
“I’m just saying,” Joq said before George had left the room. “If it’s Finn, be careful.”
George’s step faltered. He didn’t look at Joq, and Joq wasn’t looking at him.
“I know what the deal is,” George said so softly, Joq had to look at him.
George was looking at the hallway, a pained expression on his face. Then he buried it, shot Joq a tight smile and walked out.
24
Joq felt something shift in their home life after that. It was easier, with the truth, or part of it, out there, and harder, with the reality of that truth in his face.
“Heading out?” he asked George later that week when he saw him in front of the mirror, his hand running through his hair to style it, his good cologne mixing with the smell of his skin in that enticing way it did after a shower.
“Yeah,” George met his eyes in the mirror and gave him a self-deprecating smile. “Gonna grab a bite.”
Joq nodded, smiled. Before, he’d assume it was team stuff. He tried to remember if George used to tell him or if Joq had always assumed.
George kissed him on the side of the head, his “Don’t wait up,” also a familiar line, wrong in the new context.
All Joq could think when he heard George drive up the following morning at dawn was, well, at least he took his advice. He rolled over and went back to sleep.
It was midway through the season, on the cusp of the business end, when Joq felt so agitated by this new normal he decided to do something about it. He and George hadn’t had sex in the month since George started up with Finn. Joq got laid nonetheless—and George clearly got laid judging by the contented glow he radiated when he came home from his little outings; he must’ve been fucking Finn like a dog in heat. But sex was the glue that kept them together. They needed to make more of an effort.
This backfired spectacularly when George failed to stay hard.
“Have you been drinking?” Joq asked after popping his mouth off George’s softening dick. He knew George was sober.
George rubbed his eyes. He was leaning against the headboard, naked and stretched out, the powerful physique that usually turned Joq’s cranks now turning him off. He shoved that idea away and focused on working his hand up and down George’s length, his saliva slicking the way.
“No,” George groaned and rocked into his hand.
He had a semi at least. Joq leaned down to take him in his mouth again. George slid his hand into Joq’s hair and tried to grip it as he rocked his hips up. Joq’s hair was short, so George’s rough fingers gripped clumsily at his head instead.
“Ah, fuck,” George said and pulled his hips back so he was slipping out of Joq’s mouth. “I can’t turn my head off.”
Joq sat up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
George grabbed the blankets and covered himself. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Sorry,” he said, his eyes flicking to Joq’s then away.
There was a lot Joq wanted to say, but some alarm bell in him said to tread carefully.
He shrugged. “We haven’t fucked in a month. Don’t reckon that’s ever happened,” he cracked a smile.
George snorted. “It hasn’t.”
Joq got up and grabbed his pyjama pants, tugged them on and got back in his side of the bed. George shuffled over, breathing loudly beside him.
