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Part 2 by Castgimp |
| Chapter 2 | (for Chapter 1) |
Watching Chuck pad naked and barefoot across the floor toward the bathroom was still a thrill, even now. The man had a beautiful butt and a beautiful back that Doug never got tired of looking at. In the half-light of the early morning, Doug thought that Chuck looked like a moving marble statue. He marveled at the angular and sculpted shadows that Chuck’s torso cast as he strode across the dim room. How was it that this naked man had come to be in his apartment? He tried to roll over so that he could keep his eye on Chuck, but the awkward weight of his cast held him back. In a flash it all came crashing back to him—not that he had ever really forgotten, but it was easy to put it out of his mind—Chuck was here because he had broken Doug’s leg. The heavy cast was a constant reminder.
Maxwell’s cold nose now made itself known on the side of Doug’s face. He wanted to go out, but Doug couldn’t take him. It was a frustration. Fortunately, Chuck knew the routine. Doug resigned himself to staying right where he was for now, flat on his back with his cast propped up on a pile of pillows. He listened for the toilet to flush, and then he watched as Chuck padded silently back from the bathroom. Chuck reached for the pair of jeans he’d tossed at the foot of the bed the night before and then pulled them on, up over his naked butt without bothering to look for his underwear. Maxwell’s tail began to swing faster in anticipation of his first walk of the day. Doug feigned sleep and Chuck slipped quietly out of the apartment with Max. Doug lay in bed marveling at the events of the last several days. He had lost track of time and had to stop and think about what day it was. He was pretty sure it was Saturday, which meant it had been five days since he’d broken his leg…five long days, and absolutely nothing was the same as it had been before that last trip to the dog park on Tuesday.
His Tuesday morning had started not unlike today, with Maxwell’s cold nose waking him at dawn. He had slipped his own naked butt into his own jeans and bounded down the stairs with the dog, never suspecting it would be the last time he would spring down those three flights for a very long time. And fucking Chuck. He’d wanted to invite him to a cocktail party Friday night. Doug realized that party was supposed to be last night. Chuck had never mentioned it again, but he must have canceled the party. Doug knew how badly he’d wanted to show off his new kitchen counter. That Tuesday had seemed to go on forever. It felt as if a week or more had elapsed in a single day. It had been late evening before he had finally made it back to his apartment, more than twelve hours after he had walked out the door. And when he’d returned he’d barely been able to navigate the stairs, even with Matthew and Joe’s help. Even with his leg encased in a heavy plaster cast, he’d had a hard time accepting the fact that his leg was actually broken, and badly broken at that. He was well into the next day before he had accepted that reality, and the limitations that his new situation placed on him.
It turned out that Wednesday had actually been a day of reckoning on a number of fronts. The morning had gone well enough, with visits from Chuck and Matthew and a shower and the safe haven of his back porch deck, but then things had gone south. He had waited anxiously for Chuck to return at lunch time, as he said he would—in retrospect, probably over-anxiously—but when Chuck wasn’t there by 12:30 and Maxwell was overdue for his noon time walk, Doug had decided in anger and disappointment and frustration that he would venture down the stairs on his crutches and at least out to the curb with Max so that he could pee. He knew that fucking Chuck was unreliable, and he was furious with himself for allowing his hopes to be raised. He was going to have to learn to manage on his own because there was no one else out there who he could rely on.
With the leash hung over the back of his neck and Maxwell waiting impatiently on the landing, Doug had started down the stairs, moving slowly and carefully, one stair at a time, but the feat had proved to be much more difficult than he had imagined. By the time he reached the bottom of the second flight or stairs his arms were shaking and his leg was throbbing. Part way down the third flight the tip of one of his crutches had slipped off the edge of the stair and he stumbled. For a moment he had been afraid that he was going to pitch forward down the stairs head first, but he had managed to swing his arms desperately and throw his weight backwards and instead of falling forward he sat down hard on the stairs banging his cast on the wood as his crutches clattered to the bottom of the landing and rested against the front door. The pain in his leg was excruciating. He cursed Chuck again and again as he leaned over his cast, trying to cradle his leg, urging the pain to stop. He thought me might throw up. At the foot of the stairs Maxwell was barking, desperate to go out, and confused about why Doug had stopped.
Doug had found himself on the verge of tears, desperation rising in his chest. He didn’t know if he could stand up. He was certain that he could not get himself back up the stairs, and he doubted that he could get himself down to the front door unassisted. His cell phone, of course, was back in his apartment. He knew that the chances of one of his downstairs neighbors coming home in the middle of the day to find him and rescue him were very slim. Fucking Chuck, he said to himself under his breath, blaming him again for everything. If he had fucking shown up to walk Max like he said he would I wouldn’t be fucking sitting here like this. And if he hadn’t broken my fucking leg in the first place, none of this would be happening.
And then, as if he had somehow summoned the devil by invoking his name, at that very moment the doorbell rang and there was a pounding on the door. It was Chuck, calling up for Doug to throw down the keys. Which, of course he couldn’t do, because the keys were upstairs and he was downstairs. Maxwell commenced barking even louder and Doug yelled for Chuck to hang on and began the difficult task of trying to hoist himself up on one leg using the banister for leverage. His broken leg throbbed and his good leg shook as he pulled himself upright and Chuck stood outside the front door stupidly yelling was he alright, and Doug yelled back that no, he fucking wasn’t, which just caused Chuck to pound on the door harder, all of which whipped Max into a nearly desperate frenzy. It was at that moment that Matthew had apparently arrived on the scene, because his voice, too, could now be heard yelling, first at Doug, and then at Chuck, and then announcing shrilly that he was going to call 911. Doug strained to raise his voice above the others and told them to shut up and calm down, and then he managed to slowly hop down the rest of the last flight of stairs, gripping the banister for support, his thump of a landing jarring his broken leg on each step.
By the time he opened the door he was pale and sweaty, and Matthew and Chuck simultaneously reached for him before he could collapse. With one man under each arm they struggled to carry Doug back up the stairs and eased him into bed. Doug felt safe in their arms, and relieved that he had been rescued, but also angry still at Chuck and he felt somewhat foolish for having gotten himself into the situation on the stairs in the first place. Matthew was scolding him for having even thought that he could venture out of the apartment, and was fuming at Chuck for not having shown up when he was supposed to. Chuck escaped the heat by taking Max across the street to the dog park while Matthew gave Doug a pain pill and lifted his cast gently up onto a pile of pillows trying to make him comfortable while worrying silently about whether he should call the doctor.
Doug just wanted to be left alone in silence, but when Chuck and Max came back there was another round of yelling, with both Chuck and Matthew yelling at Doug for trying to navigate the stairs instead of calling one of them for help and Doug again chewing out Chuck for not showing up when he said he would. Doug tried to tune out and sink into the haze of his pain medication while Chuck and Matthew continued to yell at each other in the kitchen and argue about Doug as if he weren’t in the apartment with them. Both men, it turns out, had brought Doug lunch, which is partly why Chuck was late. Angry, and nauseous, and sick to death of both men’s shrill voices, Doug stubbornly insisted that he wanted nothing to eat. Matthew announced dramatically that he was canceling his trip to Europe, and Doug managed to climb through the fug of his pain and the drugs to yell particularly loudly from the bed that he would do no such thing, that he and Joe would go to Italy as planned the next day, and that if they all didn’t stop yelling in his apartment he was going to call the police and have them all thrown out.
When Matthew asked Doug tartly who the hell he thought would look after him if he and Joe were in Italy, Doug replied quickly that Chuck would look after him. Matthew was livid and Chuck seemed badly shaken by the whole episode. Eventually they both cleared out of the apartment, leaving Doug to sleep. Chuck had agreed to take Matthew’s keys to Doug’s apartment when he left, so that he could let himself in, and Matthew had made everyone exchange complete contact information, including first and last names, addresses, home, work and cell phone numbers, and email addresses, on the theory that the three of them were now somehow bound to each other through some horrible pact with the devil and they had best at least be able to check up on each other. Matthew made Doug promise that he would keep his cell phone with him at all times, and he made Chuck swear upon penalty of a horrible and sudden death that in his absence he would care for Doug as if he were his son, or better, for in truth Matthew had no idea what sort of parent Chuck might make, and Chuck had assured Matthew that he would do everything he could to make sure that Doug was cared for in every way, and once again this odd conversation between the two of them made Doug feel as if he were not himself in the room with them. Matthew had kissed Doug good-bye as if he thought he would never see him again, and Chuck promised to be back not later than six o’clock, and then finally, with the door shut and the noise finally ceased, Doug had fallen into a deep and welcome sleep.
He’d woken several hours later to find the late afternoon sun low in the sky. His arms and hands were stiff and sore from his crutching ordeal on the stairs, and his back was stiff and tight because he was not used to sleeping on his back. His broken leg ached and throbbed and when he tried to flex his toes down to stretch them he felt a sharp pain in his shin. He managed to get himself up an out of bed and into the bathroom to take a leak, though balancing on the crutches and one leg and unzipping his fly and fishing his dick out of his underwear was still proving to be a very difficult series of maneuvers, and he decided it would probably be easier to hang out naked but he didn’t want to be caught in the buff again if and when Chuck finally returned for his evening visit. Standing in front of the toilet peeing he remembered Chuck’s gentle hands helping him on with his pants when he’d visited before work to walk the dog and Doug’s cock grew unaccountably thick as he tried to hold onto the feeling of Chucks fingers on his naked left leg. He had been mortified that Chuck had caught him with his pants down, and was more humiliated still that he couldn’t pull his pants up himself, but he had been surprised by the grace and ease with which Chuck had handled the awkwardness of the situation and the feel of his touch had lingered on his skin all morning.
Much to Doug’s surprise, Chuck had showed up at five o’clock, unannounced. He let himself in with the key without knocking or ringing the bell and clamored up the stairs with his arms full. From his perspective on the bed it looked to Doug as if he had grocery bags, a duffle bag, a garment bag, a gym bag, and a knapsack, all slung over shoulders and arms and hanging from his fingers. He walked straight into the kitchen area and plunked everything down on the floor without even speaking. Finally, from the kitchen, he said “hey,” and then began unloading groceries. Instead of his usual business suit, Chuck was wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt and old boat shoes. Doug wondered if he would have recognized him if he had passed him on the street, so different did he look from the usual profile he cut in the dog park every morning. As Doug watched him, he had the distinct impression that Chuck was making himself at home. When the groceries were away Chuck dragged his other bags over to a chest that sat between the bathroom and the table in the middle of the room, and then, to Doug’s complete surprise, Chuck stepped out of his shoes, dropped his jeans and underwear, and pulled on a pair of running shorts. Doug only caught a brief glimpse of the man’s ass, but it was, as Doug had suspected, even more enticing naked than it was with pants covering it. He might be an oaf, but he was handsome, and well-preserved Doug added in his head, out of spite, just to make the point that Chuck was indeed older than him. It was a hollow victory for sure, but it made him smile. He decided the pain meds must really be making him loopy, for his thinking was getting downright silly. The two men had still not exchanged two words, and Doug felt almost as if he were stuck in a dream, watching Chuck cavort in Doug’s apartment as if it were his own. Chuck fiddled around in his bags some more and then exchanged his T-shirt for a tank top, found his running shoes and socks, and then took the leash from the hook by the door. “Maxwell and I are going running,” he announced, and then he and the dog bounded down the stairs.
Doug was mystified, and intrigued. He was certainly making good on his promises. He had been on-time—early even—and runner or not, he was taking Max running. Doug was content to lie in bed with his leg up and wait to see what happened next. While he was waiting, the phone rang, and it was Matthew, who was calling to check up on Chuck. Doug was secretly pleased to be able to report that Chuck was meeting all of his obligations. He and Matthew agreed that it did indeed make sense to go to Italy with Joe the following day, and Doug was relieved to think that Matthew, much as he loved him, would be out of his hair. His friendship was a mixed blessing, as it always had been. Doug knew that he never would have survived the hospital experience without him, but on the other hand, he had made the situation with Chuck much more difficult than it needed to be. Not that Doug hadn’t made it difficult all by himself. He marveled that Chuck had been as patient as he had. Doug knew that Chuck hadn’t broken his leg deliberately. Of course he knew that. And he knew that Chuck must feel awful about the whole thing. Who wouldn’t? Doug resolved to be pleasant to Chuck, particularly if he was going to keep flashing butt. And Doug recognized that with Matthew finally out of the picture, he really did need to be able to rely on Chuck. There wasn’t really anyone else he could call, and he certainly was not yet self-sufficient—he’d proved that once and for all at lunch time.
Nearly an hour passed before Chuck and Maxwell return. Doug had waited patiently for the sound of the key in the door, and quickly sat upright in bed, propping pillows behind him, to make clear to Chuck that he was indeed awake and alert. Maxwell ran up the stairs first, and headed straight for his water bowl in the kitchen, as he always did after a run. Chuck was slower to appear, and when he crested the top of the stairs, Doug could see that he was drenched in sweat and panting heavily. Apparently a run in the park with the dog was harder than it looked. Chuck’s wet running shorts clung to his skin, and Doug could see both his basket and his butt cheeks clearly outlined through the wet nylon shorts. Under the sheets, Doug could feel his cock thicken.
“Good run?” Doug offered.
“Yah. Good run. Maxwell is in great shape. I’m gonna need to catch up.”
“He’s been doing this every day for years.”
“I can tell. I need water.” Chuck headed for the sink. Doug wanted to lick the sweat off his face, and he wasn’t sure what to do about that feeling.
“Well thanks for taking Max. He wouldn’t understand if he couldn’t go running…”
“No problem. I believe we established it was the least I could do.” Doug couldn’t tell if Chuck had intended that to sound as sharp as it had.
“Well thanks. Really.”
“I need a shower.” Doug silently hoped that Chuck would drop his wet shorts right there in the middle of the kitchen floor, but instead he went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Doug could hear the shower running, and he aimlessly fingered his thickened cock trying to picture Chuck soaping himself up. This, he thought, has got to stop. He decided to get himself out of bed and be sociable. He reached for his crutches and hauled himself up off the mattress. He crutched over into the kitchen to get himself some water, and peeked in the fridge to see what Chuck had brought. There were all sorts of vegetables, and some white wine, and half a dozen plastic deli containers, the contents of which Doug didn’t recognize.
Doug was still standing in the kitchen leaning on his crutches when Chuck emerged from the shower with a towel wrapped around his middle.
“You’re up.” Chuck was toweling his hair dry with another towel.
“Yeah. A man can’t stay in bed all day.”
“Well actually a man can.” Chuck grinned. “You feeling better than you were at lunch time?”
“Yes. Thanks. That was stupid. I never should have tried to go downstairs.”
“Well you don’t appear to be any worse for the wear. You interested in some dinner?”
“Sure. You cooking?”
“I am.” Chuck had wandered over to the chest with his luggage, where he pulled his T-shirt back over his wet head. And then, much to Doug’s delight, he dropped the towel from around his waist and fished out a clean pair of black 2Xist boxer briefs that he casually stepped into before pulling on his jeans and stepping back into his worn boat shoes. Doug knew that for men who routinely work out at a gym, changing clothes in front of other guys was no big deal, and that for most gay men, getting naked with other guys was routine, but for Doug, stranger to men’s locker rooms and social loner that he was, a naked butt sighting was still a big deal, and Chuck’s butt was a particular treat. Having watched that butt parade around the dog park in fancy suits for months, it was incredibly gratifying to see it stripped down to the bare essentials, even if just momentarily.
Doug crutched over to his wheelchair and plunked himself down in it, raising his cast up on the metal leg support, and then wheeled himself over to the edge of the kitchen where Chuck was getting ready to make dinner. Chuck poured them both a glass of wine and started chopping vegetables. The conversation was sparse, and for Doug that was a welcome relief from the tortured cacophony of the lunch hour. He had always felt that conversation with Chuck was the weak link, and he was happy to share his company in relative silence now. Part way through the food preparation Chuck asked Doug if he was OK, or if there was anything he could do for him. Doug thanked him and told him he was fine, and then wheeled himself over to the stereo to put on some music.
Chuck prepared a meal the likes of which Doug knew had never been prepared in his kitchen, at least not since he had moved in. Doug rolled himself up to the table and Chuck served a first course polenta with wild mushroom ragout, followed by an Asian seared pork tenderloin with Star Anise, braised baby bok choi, and pickled melon. He’d picked up some blood orange sorbet which he served for dessert with a South African Rooibos tea. It was the best meal Doug had had in months, and he was humbled by the seemingly effortlessness with which Chuck had pulled it together. Afterwards, they sat on the back deck, chatting idly, and easily. Chuck talked about an upcoming performance with the chorus in Los Angeles, and Doug talked about his work in the school system. Maxwell sat at their feet. Doug marveled at the wondrousness of it all. Never in a million years would he have predicted that he and Chuck could have passed such an amiable evening together. Doug kept expecting Chuck to stand up and head for his own home, but he stayed on, as if he didn’t really intend to go. When Chuck finally rose from his chair on the deck, it was with the announcement that he was going to take Maxwell across the street for a quick visit to the dog park, and it was then that Doug thought for the first time to ask about Edith Piaf, thinking she too must be in need of a visit outside after all this time. Chuck offered simply that a friend had offered to take her for a few days. Doug tried to grasp all of the possible ramifications of that statement as Chuck and Max loped down the stairs into the summer night.
By the time they got back to the apartment it was nearly ten o’clock, and Doug was dead tired. Deciding he would have to force the issue, and because he really wanted to go to sleep, he said he thought he’d better be turning in, and that in any event he needed to get his leg up, as it was starting to throb. Chuck actually wheeled Doug’s chair over to the bed, and helped him stand up and move onto the bed. Unsure what exactly he was supposed to do next, Doug unsnapped his shorts, and Chuck actually reached over and helped him pull them down over his cast, and then lifted the cast up onto the pile of pillows for Doug. Once again Doug found himself aroused by Chuck’s touch, and worried that he would spring a full-fledged woody that would give him away.
Chuck drifted into the kitchen and began puttering around, cleaning up, wiping down, and generally sorting out the remnants of dinner. Despite Doug’s interest in finding out what would happen next, he really was tired, and the pain pill he’d just taken was pushing consciousness further and further from the surface. He was aware enough, however, to notice that Chuck went through the apartment and shut off the lights one by one, and then he locked the front door with the chain and the deadbolt before stepping out of his jeans and climbing into the bed next to Doug wearing just his boxer briefs.
That was Wednesday night. Now it was Saturday morning, and they really hadn’t been apart at all since then. On Thursday, Chuck had offered to move them all over into his house, which was bigger, and had a ground floor bedroom and only three steps from the street into the house, but Doug had said he wanted to stay in his apartment, and Chuck had let it go. There had been the initial awkwardness of sex—awkward because of the cast, awkward because it had been so long since Doug had slept with someone, awkward because Doug wanted it so much, and hated that he wanted it, wanted Chuck, and he couldn’t deny that he did—but they had found their rhythm pretty quickly, with Chuck climbing on top of Doug and gently easing his ass down onto Doug’s hard cock as if that were the most natural position in the world.
And now, three days later, laying in bed and waiting for Chuck to come back from walking the dog, he wondered what his life would have been like if he had never broken his leg. Chuck had promised Doug an outing today. If the weather stayed fine, as it was supposed to, they were going to pile Maxwell and Doug and the wheelchair into Chuck’s car and drive down to the Presidio. It would be the first time Doug had left the apartment since he first got back from the clinic, and he was both anxious about leaving the safety of this space, and also dying to get outside. He longed to see the water of the bay and the bridge and the green lawn of Crissy Field and most of all he was looking forward to being out with Max and watching him run and play. His leg still hurt, and if he didn’t keep it propped up, it throbbed, but he was much more comfortable than he had been and he was looking forward to venturing out with Chuck.
Doug marveled at the serendipity of having Chuck in his life, keenly aware that he had spent the better part of the last six months avoiding the man. Chuck had turned out to be remarkably adept at taking care of Doug. He didn’t seem to mind doing the cooking and cleaning and shopping, and in fact seemed to enjoy it, and all of the potentially awkward or embarrassing bits had seemed to come and go without either of them compromising their dignity. Doug had needed help with lots of the basics, including bathing and getting dressed—try as he might he could not get his underwear on and off over the cast by himself—and Chuck had seemed to handle all of that with aplomb. Doug had to admit that Chuck was taking his nursing responsibilities incredibly seriously. Matthew, who had called twice already from Italy, had nothing to worry about.
Doug could hear Max and Chuck on the steps, coming back from their morning walk. He smiled broadly as they clamored into the apartment. The man and the dog headed directly to the kitchen where Chuck dumped some dry food into Maxwell’s bowl and then, walking back across the room and dropping his jeans, Chuck climbed back into bed. Doug turned his head to look at him, smiling.
“How do you feel?” Chuck asked him.
“Pretty stiff.”
“You’re always pretty stiff.” Chuck bantered, smiling back at him. “Anything I can do to make you feel better?”
“Maybe what you usually do…” Doug whispered.
Chuck rolled over onto his side, facing Doug, and threw his arm over Doug’s chest, as he had that very first night. He leaned up on one elbow and moved his face next to Doug’s, kissing him gently. Doug felt himself flush, his face growing warm and his cock growing thick. Despite the impediment of the thick cast on his leg, their bodies moved together naturally, in a fluid, almost practiced way. Chuck reached for Doug’s cock and Doug reached for Chuck’s ass. Before long Chuck was straddling Doug’s hips and lowering himself down onto Doug’s cock, and then he was moving on top of Doug, riding Doug, his ass cheek grinding down onto the hard lip of the plaster cast. They were both verbal when they made love, and their moans competed for dominance as they thrust their hips. There was a moment they both built toward, the moment when Doug’s moaning transformed itself into guttural yelps, and his toes curled down hard over the lip of his cast, and then all at once Doug was coming explosively, convulsively, inside Chuck’s ass, and Chuck was coming on Doug’s chest, shooting hot white ropes of jism up onto Doug’s nipples while he clamped his ass down tightly on Doug’s throbbing cock. And then, slowly, with Chuck collapsed down on top of him, the storm would calm, and Doug’s heaving chest would come to rest. It had been that way the first night, and it had been that way ever since. It wasn’t something they talked about. It was just something they did, over and over again, whenever they got a chance. It was the best sex Doug had ever had in his life.
And so time began to pass in a sort of unanticipated connubial bliss. The outing to the waterfront had been a success. Doug had always liked being outside, and hadn’t realized how much he had missed it being cooped up inside. He found he liked having Chuck pushing him in the wheelchair, and he even liked the fact that people stared at them—that his big white plaster cast splayed out there for everyone to see drew attention to him, to them. Maxwell seemed happy to fetch the rubber ball that Doug threw and return it to him in the wheelchair even though it was not the routine he was used to. Doug couldn’t help marveling at the way Max seemed to understand what had happened. The Sunday following their first foray outdoors had brought more unexpected pleasures. Chuck had rescheduled his Friday night cocktail party for a Sunday cocktail gathering at tea-dance time. Instinctively, Doug had dreaded going, but against all odds it had turned out to be fun. Despite his previous personal avowals to never step foot in Chuck’s house, once he was inside, he found the space warm and comfortable, and incredibly well put-together, and it made him self-conscious about his own shabby apartment. That Sunday he had spent the morning reading in a comfortable arm-chair while Chuck prepared canapés and then Chuck had helped him dress in something smart for the party. Chuck’s gay men’s chorus buddies had turned out to be entertaining and engaging people, and not the pompous boors that Doug had imagined, and they had been incredibly kind to Doug, which amazed him, and once again he found himself enjoying his role as the center of attention. Clusters of people gathered around his wheelchair and marveled at the girth and heft of his cast, making all sorts of campy jokes about the word “hard,” and they fetched cocktails and snacks for Doug while Chuck worked the room and swept away empties. Doug was surprised to find himself disappointed when the guests began to leave, and he realized how pathetically little socializing he had actually done in his adult life. For a moment he could actually imagine a world in which he and Chuck might have a circle of close friends around which an active social life swirled.
The sex and the housekeeping seemed to come easily to the two of them, but they were still men, and true communication was scant between them. In this case, Doug had assumed that after the party they would spend the night at Chuck’s house, and he had begun to fret about the dog, but to his surprise, after the last guests were gone and the cleanup was done, Chuck had wheeled him up the street and back to his apartment where Max was waiting for them. Lying awake in bed later that night, Doug realized he’d had to reconsider virtually every assumption he had made about Chuck, including the simple fact that he had assumed Chuck was a top who was interested in Doug’s ass. It was incredible to him that he could have so misjudged the man, that his instincts had been so wrong, and that, but for Chuck knocking him down in the dog park, he might never have been forced to see past his own biases and presuppositions. He marveled that Chuck had stuck with him since the injury, and, happy as they seemingly had been together in the last week, in the back of his mind began to develop a set of worries about what would happen once he was no longer laid up. He wondered if Chuck was simply taking Matthew’s charge to him incredibly seriously, and enjoying some sex on the side, or whether they could sustain the rhythm of co-dependence they seemed to be enjoying once Doug was back on his feet. He struggled to consciously dismiss these anxieties from his head, understanding that if he let them, his own securities would ambush what was admittedly an unexpected and very good thing.
As the next several weeks unfolded, the two men developed a routine that was efficient and satisfying for both of them, and was, in fact, not very different from the patterns they had established in the first few days following the accident. Chuck would rise early, walk Max, help Doug bathe, shower himself, feed the three of them, and then head for work. He would stop back by the house at noon to walk Max and bring some lunch to Doug, and then after work he would faithfully take Max for a long run. Most nights he then cooked dinner, except for the evenings when he had choir practice, and on those days Doug would take responsibility for ordering something to be delivered, choosing pizza or Thai or Mexican as his mood dictated. Most nights they had sex. Occasionally, Chuck would call in sick and they would spend the day in the park or at the waterfront. There was a domesticity to the rhythm that Doug had not known since he was a kid living with his parents, and he marveled at it, both that it existed, and that he enjoyed it. While he had often pursued the idea that he ought to have a boyfriend, he had never imagined that he would actually enjoy living with someone else. He had come to think of himself as a single man, and even as something of a curmudgeon.
Despite the long hours they spent together, other than the banter of small talk, there was still little substantive conversation between the two men, and yet somehow their lives had fit together like mitered pieces of crown molding. It felt to Doug as if they had always slept next to each other, and he actually couldn’t imagine waking up without Chuck beside him. He wondered if this was love, or whether the simple surprise of companionship had tricked both men into thinking this was something that it wasn’t. Whatever it was, it was hard to argue with. Laid up as he was, Doug clearly could not have managed on his own, and the sex continued to be incredibly satisfying. Whenever uncertainty crept into his consciousness, Doug tried willfully to dismiss it, and most often he succeeded, but as the end of the second week of his confinement drew near, however, Doug’s anxiety began to mount. He was supposed to return to the orthopedic clinic for a check-up and a cast change, and as the time for his appointment drew closer, he began to doubt everything that he had enjoyed since Chuck’s arrival. His anxiety seemed to have many sources, and manifested itself in bizarre ways. He was troubled about the possibility that Chuck was sticking by him only out of a sense of responsibility—that he was trying to make amends for his role in the injury, but that, once Doug healed, he would move on. He worried too that the doctor would tell him that his leg was not healing properly, or that he would need the surgery after all, or that somehow the situation was much worse than they had first thought. He began to imagine that he might never walk again, that he might end up crippled, limping with a cane, or worse, wheelchair-bound for the rest of his life. He fretted that he might never get to go running with Max again. In his darkest moments, he even imagined that he might have to give up his career and spend the rest of his life as a shut-in in this pathetic apartment, alone. His worries were not necessarily linked to reality, but they were real enough for him, and with his appointment still two days away, he began to snap at Chuck and he found that even Max was getting on his nerves. The night before his appointment he actually picked a fight with Chuck, and suggested that maybe he should think about sleeping at his own house for a change, but Chuck muscled his way through the outburst, ignoring Doug’s emotional roller-coaster, and later that night they made love, Chuck riding Doug’s cock, the plaster cast splayed between his legs.
The morning of the appointment, Doug was subdued. He felt physically spent, exhausted from his worrying, petrified about the uncertainty inherent in his visit to the doctor’s office. Unwilling or unable to talk to Chuck about any of these feelings, they drove to the clinic in silence. Once inside, Doug was amazed at how afraid he was to be back in this space. His palms were sweaty and he felt nauseous. Sitting there in the wheelchair with his cast propped up he could feel his bowels churning. When the nurse came out and called his name he was actually afraid he might shit his pants. The first thing they did was take him for more x-rays, and he was amazed that they took the pictures right through the cast. Next, they wheeled him into an exam room, and a technician used a little buzz saw to cut the plaster cast off. Doug was astounded at how incredibly naked and vulnerable he felt without the cast to protect his broken leg. He lay on the exam table, afraid to move, afraid to even raise his head and look down at his leg. The technician carefully washed and dried his leg, and then covered him with a blanket and left him to wait. Doug was afraid to move.
Finally, the doctor came in and slipped the new x-rays up into the light board on the wall. Doug held his breath and braced himself for bad news, but the doctor seemed pleased with his progress, though he repeated the news that it would be a slow-healing set of fractures. He told him he would not need to see him for another four weeks, and then he walked out, sending in yet another orthopedic tech to put a new cast on Doug’s leg.
It had seemed to take forever as the orderly carefully wrapped Doug’s leg and then Doug had to lie still while the cast hardened, but Doug's relief was enormous once his leg was finally immobilized again. The electronic chirp of a small timer indicated that the cast was set, and a nurse offered Doug a hand to help him sit up. As Doug eased himself into an upright position, he was surprised by what he saw. The new cast could not have been more different from the first one. Where that one was thick and white and heavy and straight as a marble pillar, this one was sleek and lithe and black and bent at the knee. The new fiberglass cast did not have nearly the heft of the original plaster cast, and in fact, it was surprisingly contoured to the shape of his leg. There was a lip of about half an inch of white padding that separated the black fiberglass from the pink skin of his toes, and a similar soft white stripe that ringed his upper thigh, but the rest of his leg was covered in jet black. Doug didn’t know what he had expected, but the idea that it wouldn't simply be another white plaster cast had never entered his head.
Oddly, Doug found himself fighting disappointment at the loss of the old cast, but the more he stared at it, the more Doug discovered that the new cast was actually very pleasing. Rather than helping him to sit back down in the wheelchair, the nurse handed him his crutches and told him that he should find it much easier to get around with this cast. Standing in just his underwear, Doug took a tentative step forward with the crutches, placing his bare left foot carefully in front of him on the cold linoleum floor. Swinging the new black cast forward, he took another step. He was amazed at the simple pleasure he derived from moving forward. Doug marveled at the cast, staring down at it as he moved about the exam room, feeling his way with the crutches.
Now that he was over the initial visual shock, he found that the new cast was a comfort to him in almost every way, in part because it was so light compared to the plaster, but in large measure because it was so form-fitting, and therefore so restrictive. The plaster cast had actually become a bit loose, as the doctor had said it would, and that had made Doug nervous and insecure. In the last few days he had found that he could actually move his leg around in the cast if he tried, and he had become afraid of accidentally moving the wrong way and jarring the broken bones or inadvertently doing something that might slow the healing process. This new cast was molded so carefully and so closely to his leg that there was no way for him to move any part of his leg, and that restriction of his movement was reassuring.
The fiberglass cast covered his entire foot except for his toes, and was molded carefully around his ankle and heel, and he noticed that even the curve of the arch of his foot was preserved. His foot was held at a rigid 90 degree angle to his ankle and shin. The cast rose on his leg even higher than the thicker plaster cast had, so that when he stood up like this the curve of his buttocks actually touched the top lip of the cast. The technician had made the cast with a very dramatic bend at the knee, so that there was no way Doug could touch his foot down to the floor even if he had wanted to, which was the point. The doctor had said he didn’t want Doug to become lazy and rest his foot on the ground thereby putting pressure on the fracture sites. The only movement that Doug could now manage was to curl his toes down over the lip of the cast, and to swing his leg at the hip, from front to back. Otherwise, his foot, ankle, knee, and leg were frozen into a locked position.
That inability to move his foot and ankle and knee was strangely satisfying, and standing there in front of the nurse, he found himself wondering what it would be like to have other parts of his body restricted from movement with similar casts. The cast was also incredibly comfortable, so comfortable in fact that he could almost forget that his leg was broken. The throbbing in his foot and ankle had stopped completely. It was true that he could not walk, at least not without crutches, but he felt one hundred times better than he did in the first days after his fall. He could finally begin to imagine his life returning to normal—returning to work, resuming control of his life—and he could even imagine being in the cast for a very long time and that felt OK to him, and in some odd way even welcome. He had begun to develop a real affinity for his new identity as a man with a broken leg, and when he pictured himself now in his mind's eye, he pictured himself with his leg in a cast. But in a flash he also realized that what made his life complete as a man with a broken leg was the constant companionship of Chuck—the daily help that Chuck provided in a thousand ways all day long, helping him bathe, helping him dress, helping him sit and stand and walk. While he could imagine himself as a man who would have his leg in a cast for a very long time, what he could not imagine is a life without Chuck. He could not imagine a life for himself in which they did not sleep next to each other. He could not imagine a life in which he would never feel himself inside Chuck again. He could not imagine the absence of Chuck's gentle touch or the eagerness of his warm wet tongue in his mouth. He realized with some horror that he would be willing to break his leg again, or to break his other leg, or to live with a cast on his leg for the rest of his life if it meant keeping Chuck by his side. He knew that was not a good thought. He knew he could not trap Chuck into staying. He knew he should not even begin to visualize further injuries—that he should only be visualizing healing—but there it was. If for some strange reason that was what it would take to keep Chuck, Doug knew suddenly that he would be willing to break his leg over and over again. It was a sobering thought, but he knew it was an honest emotion, and an emotion he could not imagine being able to begin to describe to Chuck.
His unsettling reverie was broken by the voice of the nurse asking him if he was OK. Startled, and embarrassed, Doug apologized for zoning out, and let the nurse help him back into the cargo shorts that he had chosen that morning specifically because they fit so easily over the cast. As he dressed, Doug found himself wondering what Chuck would think of the new cast.
Chuck was in the waiting room flipping through old issues of The New Yorker, mostly just reading the cartoons. He had been told it would be a while, so he went out and grabbed a sandwich, but now he was back. He was distracted by the gnawing anxiety that eventually, at one of these clinic visits, Doug would be given a clean bill of health, and then there would be no legitimate reason for him to stay on in Doug’s life. Chuck knew he had no justifiable hope that Doug would want to give up his current life for an uncertain future with Chuck. He knew Doug had disliked him from almost the moment they met, knew that he blamed him for the accident, and was justified in placing that blame on him. Chuck had tried in every way he could to make things up to Doug, and had been surprised that his efforts had not been rebuffed, but once his leg had healed, once Matthew was back from Italy, once Doug returned to work, once he no longer needed someone to take care of him, Chuck was certain that Doug would move him along. The fear of losing Doug was almost paralyzing. He had found San Francisco to be an exceptionally difficult place to live, a tough community in which to make friends and an even harder place to find lovers, but now, even after having achieved undeniable success at work and even after having found a social home as he had with his friends from the choir, Chuck knew he couldn’t face life alone in San Francisco. Not now. Not after this. Not having known Doug as he had. He had already given up his dog. He would gladly give up his house. But he wasn’t willing to give up Doug, and he knew he would fight to keep him if it came to that. But he also knew that unless Doug wanted him, it would be a losing battle, and that thought thoroughly depressed him. He knew he would have to leave the city. Maybe he would move to Seattle and try to start over.
When Doug finally emerged from the bowels of the clinic, swinging on his crutches with the nurse pushing the wheelchair behind him, Chuck found himself overwhelmed. He was surprised to find Doug upright on crutches and not in a wheelchair. More arresting, however, was the new cast you his leg. Chuck was speechless. He was completely unprepared for the feelings he was experiencing. The way Doug’s foot and ankle were suspended in mid-air struck him as incredibly beautiful, and erotic. He was literally stunned by the cast, and while on the one hand it seemed almost a work of art, he found himself experiencing it sexually, which was completely different from the way he had experienced the first cast. He found himself wanting to touch it. He wanted to run his hands up and down it. He wanted to feel the cast rubbing up against his naked leg. He knew in an instant that he could never leave for Seattle, or for anywhere else for that matter, unless Doug was with him. He realized with some degree of horror that if he had to break Doug’s leg again to keep him, he would do it in an instant.
“Hey babe,” he found himself saying. “How are you?” He had never called Doug “babe” before in his life.
“Hey,” Doug said, sheepishly, relieved that Chuck was there waiting for him.
“Look at you!”
“I know. Quite a cast, eh?”
“I’ll say! And you’re walking!”
“Yeah, well, I think it would be premature to get rid of the wheelchair just yet, but it is a lot easier to maneuver with this cast. It’s so much lighter.”
“Lighter. And darker,” Chuck teased.
“Yeah, I know, I didn’t expect black.”
“No! It looks totally good on you. I hate to say it, but black might be your color.” By this time, they were standing right next to each other, their faces practically touching.
“Let’s get out of here,” Doug whispered, his voice raspy.
“Yeah. Let’s get you home.” Chuck put his hand gently on the small of Doug’s back. He had never touched him in public before.
With the plaster cast, Doug had always had to ride in the back seat of Chuck’s BWM, with his casted leg stretched out across the seat, but with the new cast with the bend in the knee, he actually fit better and was more comfortable riding in the front seat, next to Chuck. Doug was surprised when Chuck reached his hand over and rested in on Doug’s thigh, but it was comforting, and comfortable, and intimate in a way that was new. They rode most of the way home with Chuck’s hand just resting there.
The new cast proved to be much easier to maneuver up the stairs, and Doug was relieved to discover a new sense of independence in his increased mobility. The three flights were till a chore, though, and at the top of the stairs he was out of breath. Resting just inside the door to the apartment, Chuck came up behind him and hugged him hard. Doug turned on his crutches so that he was facing Chuck, and then their mouths opened to each other and their bodies were pressed together. Letting his crutches fall, Doug leaned into Chuck, balancing on one foot and letting Chuck support his weight. Chuck leaned back a few inches to reach the wall behind him for support, and standing there like that they made out like high school kids, kissing and groping and grinding their hips. Doug was startled when Chuck scooped him up in his arms, cast and all, and carried him to their bed. Both men were frenzied now, ripping at each other’s clothes, trying to get naked as fast as they could. Doug rolled onto his back and waited for Chuck to straddle his hips, but Chuck rolled onto his side, away from Doug, and waited for Doug to follow. The new cast made it possible for Doug to actually roll over in bed unassisted, and rolling onto his side, he saw that there were now new possibilities open to them for making love. That afternoon, for the first time, Doug fucked Chuck from behind, both of them on their sides, his black cast resting beneath them on the mattress. He had loved having Chuck ride his cock, but now, fucking Chuck from behind, he found himself newly invigorated, and enjoyed taking the lead in their lovemaking for a change. It would be a long time before he could kneel behind Chuck, or take Chuck’s legs up onto his shoulders, but this new sideways position seemed to suit them both, and they came like gangbusters, rocking and grunting and humping like teenagers. Afterwards, in the fading afternoon sunlight, Doug marveled at it all.
And so a second phase in their relationship began, one in which both men were more confident about their burgeoning partnership, and about the fact that this seemed to be more than a passing thing. Without ever saying the words, they had managed to set up a household together, and while the unaddressed questions remained many (not the least of which, in Doug’s mind, was what the hell had become of Edith Piaf?) they were relaxed with each other and optimistic about what the future might hold.
Another unanswered question seemed to take care of itself in the next week. Doug had not decided yet when he might go back to work, though he had begun to fret over it. The new, lighter cast certainly had given him a newfound sense that he could in fact probably go back to work sooner rather than later, and he was certainly getting out and about more on his crutches, but he still tired easily, and reverted to the wheelchair for longer outings, and the thought of spending his days in the hallways of the public schools he worked in, navigating the stairs and the crowds of students with his broken leg had disinclined him toward making a commitment about returning. His union disability benefits would allow him to take as much time as he needed to get back on his feet, and while he had a strong work ethic, and enjoyed his work, he was in no rush to go back. But when the phone call came through, he didn’t hesitate for a moment to say that he would be there in the morning.
An openly gay student had been brutally beaten by a group of students in the stairwell of one of the city’s high schools. The boy was badly injured and in the hospital. A group of varsity athletes had been suspended, pending a hearing in front of the school board, and criminal charges were pending against them. The next morning a special meeting was being set up with the gay and straight student alliance, and with those students’ parents, if they would come, and a general student assembly was being held in the afternoon. Extra counselors were being made available to all students. Doug had been asked to speak at both the student organization meeting, and at the general assembly, and he knew he had to be there. He had been part of a team of teachers and counselors who had spearheaded a very successful diversity awareness and appreciation program in the city schools that had become a model for other school districts. Violence of any sort was unusual in the San Francisco schools, and a hate crime such as this seemed to be was an aberration, but the schools were volatile places, and Doug knew he could contribute to helping the school community work through this situation.
Chuck hadn’t questioned his decision to go into work, and had readily volunteered to drive him to school in the morning. Chuck even offered to skip his choir rehearsal that evening so that he could pick Doug up after work, but Doug told him he should go, assuring him that he could get a ride or take a taxi. In fact it had turned out to be a very difficult day, physically and emotionally, and Doug was exhausted by five o’clock. It was more crutching than he had ever done, and his arms and hands and shoulders were sore and raw. The student meetings had been particularly difficult, and part way through the day word reached the school that the student who had been beaten had slipped into a coma. If he died, the students who beat him up would face murder charges. It was difficult to see how anything of lasting value to anyone could be wrung from the situation, and it was clear that the harm that had been done to the school community would be long lasting. The fear and the anguish in the hallways had been as palpable as it had been in the faculty lounge.
At the end of the day Doug had gotten a ride home from a gay faculty member he was friendly with, and when he finally reached the top of the stairs, he was completely exhausted. Chuck had choir rehearsal and Max needed to go out. With the new cast and his increased independence and mobility, Doug had begun to take Max into the dog park across the street, and tired as he was he knew he needed to do that. It required another down and up on the stairs for him, on top of what was already too much crutching, but he knew that Max needed to pee, and he didn’t want to force him to have an accident inside. Once the dog walk was completed and they were both safely back upstairs, Doug collapsed on the bed. It was his job to order pizza for an arrival that would coincide with Chuck’s return, but that was several hours away and he desperately needed a nap.
When Doug woke up he was disoriented. It was already dark out but he had no sense of how long he had been asleep or how late it was. When he looked at his watch, he was surprised to see that it was almost 9:00 p.m. He felt a sudden panic in his chest. Chuck should have been home by now. His rehearsal was supposed to have ended at 8, and he almost always came straight home On the few occasions when he had gone out for a drink with the guys, he had always called. Doug was hungry, and he had a headache. His arms and hands hurt from crutching all day, and his leg was sore, his foot throbbing, a sure sign that he had been on his feet too long. Now he also had a mounting sense of anxiety. Where the hell was Chuck? He reached over and grabbed the phone off the table next to the bed and dialed Chuck’s cell. It rang and rang and rang but no one answered. Doug was startled by the realization of the potential magnitude of his grief and loss if he were to ever lose Chuck.
Just as Doug was about to enter fully fledged panic, his cell phone rang in his hand and he saw that it was Chuck’s number.
“Where the hell are you?” Doug screamed into the phone, sounding angrier than he meant to, the pitch of his voice driven by fear and adrenaline.
“Hey babe. I am so sorry. I haven’t been able to use my cell phone to call you. I’m at the emergency room. We’re fine, but there’s been …um…a little accident.” He didn’t want to frighten Doug.
“An accident? What happened?!? Who are you with?”
“Marty. We were mugged. After rehearsal. Walking back to the car.”
“Mugged? Jesus! Are you OK?”
“Guy took our wallets. Roughed us up a bit. Marty split his lip open. Needs a few stitches. Broke a tooth. Lots of blood but he is fine.”
“How about you??”
“I’m OK. Nothing too serious. Just a little knocked up.”
“You sure?”
“I’m fine. Really. I’ll be home as soon as I can, but it might take a while here. You know the drill at the ER. If you aren’t dying they make you wait. Marty’s lip is swollen up like a fig.”
“A fig?”
“Yeah well, that’s what it reminded me of. Did you eat yet?”
“No. I’m starving. I was gonna order us pizza.”
“You should go ahead and eat. I’ll get something here if this goes on much longer.”
“What about your wallet?”
“Well that’s a pain in the ass. I gotta cancel all my credit cards tonight. I might swing by my house to pull my files to make those calls. How was your day? Difficult I bet.”
“Really difficult. That kid Ronnie slipped into a coma this afternoon.”
“Fuck.”
“I know. It was a fucked up day. Tough talking to the kids. Tough talking to their parents. Tough being on my feet all day. I’m shot.”
“I bet.”
“I wish you were here.”
“I wish I was there too.”
“I’m glad you’re OK. I’m sorry you got mugged. You think it was a hate crime? You think this guy hit you guys because you were gay?”
“No. He just wanted the wallets. It was just a mugging.”
“You call the cops?”
“Yeah. They said it happens all the time.”
“Sucks.”
“Yup.”
“Well OK I guess. I’ll see you when you get here. Drive carefully.”
“I will. I love you.”
“Love you too babe.”
It was after midnight by the time Chuck finally made it back to the apartment. Doug was sound asleep, and although he heard Chuck come in, he could barely rouse himself. He leaned up on one elbow, planted a peck of a kiss on Chuck’s cheek, and fell back onto the pillow, falling asleep again almost immediately. Doug woke about three in the morning needing to pee, and couldn’t remember if Chuck had come home or not. He reached across the bed and was relieved to feel him sleeping next to him. He almost stumbled over Max as he crutched to the bathroom, still half-asleep. He felt even more tired and more sore than he had been before he went to sleep. He took some Advil and stumbled back to bed, sort of overwhelmed by the events of the day.
The next morning Chuck woke long before Doug, and he had already been out with Max by the time Doug finally opened his eyes. Chuck was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee reading the newspaper. Doug crawled out of bed and crutched over to the table in his underwear, his hair standing nearly straight up.
“Morning sleepy head,” Chuck called from the table. “You were sleeping like a log. You must have been exhausted.”
“I was. Dead tired.” Doug was easing himself down into the chair opposite Chuck when he saw it. Chuck’s right forearm was in a cast.
“Oh my god! What happened?”
“I broke my wrist.”
“Fuck! Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“I didn’t know when I talked to you. I hadn’t had it x-rayed yet. I didn’t want you to worry. I feel so stupid. This kid took a swipe at me and I dodged, and fell, and landed on my hand. I figured I just sprained it. Turns out I broke my scaphoid bone.” A blue fiberglass cast covered his thumb and his forearm up to his elbow.
“Your scaphoid?”
“I guess it’s a little bone somewhere near the base of my thumb…part of my wrist joint.”
“Holy shit! This is unbelievable!”
“I know. We make quite a pair.”
“I can’t believe you broke your fucking wrist. Does it hurt?”
“Not much really. I woke up a couple of times last night. It was kind of throbbing. But compared to what you went through, this is nothing.”
“How long do you have to wear that cast?”
“Six weeks. Eight weeks. I guess these can be pesky to heal.”
“We’re going to need a full-time nurse!”
“We’ll manage. You’ve still got one good leg and I’ve still got one good arm. That’s six limbs between us.”
“This is fucking too much. How is Marty?”
“He’s OK. His lip still looked like a fig when I dropped him off last night.”
“What about your wallet?”
“I stopped by my house last night and cancelled my credit cards.”
“You know Matthew and Joe get back from Italy tonight.”
“I thought about that.”
“He’s gonna run screaming from the house when he sees that cast on your arm.”
“Maybe best thing. Maybe we should tell him that you broke my arm to get revenge.”
“He may well conclude that’s what happened regardless of what we tell him.” Doug was laughing now. He was over his surprise and was bemused by their situation. He was also kind of intrigued. “You know…you look pretty fucking handsome with your arm in a cast.”
“Why thank you.” Chuck leaned across the table and kissed him. “You look pretty fucking hot yourself.”
“I don’t suppose…I don’t suppose you’d consider coming back to bed for a while?” Doug reached over and touched Chuck’s cast.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
It was hard to say why, but there was a sexual tension across the kitchen table that was thicker than anything either of them had yet experienced. It was all they could do to get to the bed before they were wrestling each other’s clothes off. Doug wanted to take all of Chuck into his mouth—his cock, his balls, his tongue, his fingers, his toes—it was as if he couldn’t get enough of Chuck, and Chuck seemed intent on jamming his tongue into places that it had never been, and places where, frankly, Doug didn’t even know it could fit. Their love making was fevered. Doug pushed Chuck onto his side in order to mount his ass, but Chuck wrestled him back onto his back and crawled on top of him, lubing his ass with his own saliva and then sitting down hard and fast on Doug’s cock, assuming the position that they had adopted before Doug got his new black cast. As soon as Doug’s cock was inside Chuck he felt safe, and all of the tension and anxiety from the previous twenty-four hours started to drain out of him. As he raised his hips to meet Chuck’s ass, he found himself saying “I love you Chuck” out loud to Chuck, and then he found himself on the verge of tears. Doug could feel himself starting to get close and he wanted to wait, wanted to hold back, savoring their connectedness, when suddenly Chuck reached back behind him, reached between Doug’s legs with his casted hand, and jammed a wet finger inside Doug’s ass. Doug felt his eyes grow wide with surprise as a shudder went through his body. In all of their lovemaking, Chuck had never touched Doug’s asshole, and how his finger was inside him. Worse, it felt incredibly good. Rather than holding back his orgasm, Doug was now racing headlong toward it. He ground his hips harder and faster up inside Chuck, and Chuck jammed his own finger deeper inside Doug. Doug could feel the hard lip of Chuck’s cast against the soft skin of his own inner ass cheeks and ground his ass hard against the cast, taking as much of Chuck’s finger as he could grab. Above his own groaning Doug heard Chuck say “I love you too Doug” and then Doug was screaming and bucking and exploding amidst a flash of white light and he was squeezing his legs together, forcing Chuck’s casted hand further between his legs as his violent orgasm shook them both. Afterwards, when he had finally caught his breath, he let Chuck fuck his face, and he gently played with Chuck’s ass as he coaxed a nearly equally violent orgasm out of Chuck, eagerly swallowing his hot jism as Chuck shot it against the back of his throat.
They slept again until almost noon, when Max woke them. He wanted to go out for a run.