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Joq shook his head. George leaned back in and his smile was cheeky; it made him look young, look the way he did when they were practically kids getting together.
“More’s the pity,” he said and leaned over the console to kiss Joq as the gates slid shut behind them.
Later that night when George fucked him, Joq felt an edge to it, a desire bordering on aggressive. George had him on his hands and knees, his dick like steel as he pushed inside.
Joq groaned and arched his back, prepared for a pause to adjust but George was pulling out and shoving in, then again, fast and so deep it stole Joq’s breath. He gasped as much at the fucking as the noises George was making—guttural breaths in tandem with his hips as he slammed into Joq so hard he slipped onto his elbows. George tightened his grip on his hips and pounded him harder. Joq got a hand on himself and jerked off furiously.
“Yeah, get yourself off, baby,” George rasped.
Joq moaned and came. George never talked in bed. Never. And he rarely kept going after Joq came. He did now. It was almost too much—the way he was yanking Joq back onto his dick, like he couldn’t help himself, like it felt too good to stop. Joq groaned at the thought as he felt George start to come.
George hadn’t fucked him like that in a long time, like he was so turned on he’d finally turned down the noise. Nothing perfunctory about it. It felt good, it felt amazing, and as George pulled out, rolled over and promptly passed out, Joq thought this little crush might work out quite nicely for his sex life.
4
It was still dark when he cracked his eyes open the next morning to the sound of George moving around the room.
He groaned. George snorted. Joq felt the bed move as a hand planted itself near his hip.
“Go back to sleep,” George whispered.
“Where you goin’?”
“Training,” George kissed the top of his head.
“Hmmm,” Joq grabbed him by the collar before he could pull away.
George huffed but met his kiss. It didn’t hold the passion of the night before, the lingering effects of which had Joq wanting to drag George back into bed to do it all again. This kiss—quick with a hint of tongue at Joq’s insistence before George pulled away—told him that wasn’t happening.
“Bit early,” Joq said as he rolled onto his back.
He heard George pause in the doorway. “Beach,” he replied. “Go back to sleep.”
Then he was gone.
Joq remembered the interview and woke right up as he reached for his phone. If George had broadcast his crush to the whole football watching world, Joq wanted to see it so he could give him shit for it later.
04:03 blinked up at him when he swiped his phone. That was early. Since when did beach training start at four in the morning? Even if it was still preseason, then six in the morning, okay, but four?
Maybe George was bringing in some military tactics. Joq had seen him reading books on discipline according to an ex-marine, and they’d chatted about the possibility of employing that kind of mentality. Joq recalled seeing military people training in the dark hours of the morning in a movie.
He sat up and found the press conference with a quick search. It opened with George and Finn at a long table, microphones in front of them, the team logo emblazoned on everything around them. They looked sharp in their suits, which Joq knew looked even better in person. George was sitting forward, hands clasped, his posture straight and commanding, his face calm if a little blank—standard. Finn was sitting back, his smile easy, his hair an absolute mess—surely someone was going to do something about that soon—and his lazy gaze kept drifting to George as questions were asked. Finn answered in his shy yet friendly drawl, while George gave his more typical clipped remarks, the odd smirk.
Joq yawned. There was nothing in this. For anyone who didn’t know George, they’d think he was the tough, cool, calm player he’d always been. Only now, he was bringing that commanding presence to coaching. Or, he was going to try—and arguably fail—according to the media.
“So you two just met this week?” a reporter asked.
“In person, yeah,” Finn replied, looking at George who was leaning back to meet his eyes. “But we’ve been facetiming for a while now, texting, that kind of thing.”
George was nodding. “Yeah,” he said, eyes on Finn before he looked back out at the scrum, the cameras, “I reached out after the draft, then again after he got the call up and we kept in touch. Thought I could offer a few pointers.”
Finn’s arm moved and George broke into a grin, flashed it at Finn before looking back at everyone else in the room. Joq realised Finn had just given him a playful tap on the thigh under the table.
“A few pointers, he says,” Finn sat up, chuckling. “Think he was more worried about all this than me.”
“Hey now, it’s a lot of pressure and I didn’t hear you complaining when you called at midnight with every panicked thought a man can have.”
“That was one time!” Finn laughed.
