Page 19 of Proof Of Life

“I mean it.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m just–” my voice sounds broken, like it’s been dragged across gravel, and hot tears burn my eyes. “–heartbroken. Watching you in so much pain breaks my fucking heart. Seeing you struggle…” I try twice more to swallow before I can speak again. “It breaks my heart, but it’s not pity. You’re the strongest motherfucker I know.” Fuck, my voice is cracking like a pubescent teen. “Weston Wardell is larger than life. You have a face and body that puts mine to shame, and you outrank me. I don’t fucking pity you.”

“Good. ‘Cause I couldn’t take it if you did.”

I move the cloth across his chest, holding him to me in a bear hug, and then wash down his stomach, stopping just above his pubes. He grabs the rag from me, chuckling.

“It’s okay. I can do that part myself.”

With only one hand on the rail, he soaps up his junk while I hold him steady, and then he’s handing back the rag to me so I can finish. Slowly, I wash the perfect white globes of his ass, scraping his skin with my fingernail.

West flinches. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Laughing, I explain, “Stay still. You have a clump of surgical glue stuck to your ass cheek. It’s probably been there for weeks, but it’s coming off today.” He relaxes again as I scratch the glue off, and I take advantage of the moment to lighten the mood. “Obviously you don’t wash your ass.”

“Fuck you. My ass is clean enough to lick.”

Shut up, Brandt. Shut. The fuck. Up. Do not take the bait.

I’m so paranoid that he can read my mind that it takes me a moment to realize what he’s doing.

“Ungh,” he moans, the sound echoing off the tiled walls.

A peek over his shoulder reveals he’s only got one hand on the rail, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s doing with the other one.

“Seriously? You think this seems like a good time for that?” While my bare cock is just inches from your ass crack? While I’m struggling to suppress thoughts of licking your ass? Fuck me.

“It’s…homework…” he pants, increasing the pace of his strokes. “Riggs wants…mmmhhn…to know if it…still works.”

Wtf?! “Why? Why is that something he needs or wants to know?”

“He has…a theory…that it’s motivating for my…ungh…recovery. Fuck, that feels good. It’s definitely still in working order.” The slapping of his balls against his thighs resonates deafeningly in the silence as I’m processing his words, and then he adds, “Who knows, maybe he’s just deeply closeted, and he gets off on this shit.”

“I doubt it.” At least he can’t see me peeking over his shoulder, my eyes traveling down the length of his body to where his fist beats against his groin. I’m going to hell for watching, but I was probably already headed there anyway, so fuck it. “You about done?” I wouldn’t care if he wasn’t. I’m enjoying the show, but the longer he stretches this out, the more awkward it’s becoming.

“Jesus, Reaper, cut me a break. The last time I came was…fuck, it was in the shower with you,” he laughs.

My stomach flips remembering that day, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard his laughter since the accident. Maybe Riggs is right, maybe this is what he needs to get motivated about his recovery. I'm all for anything that helps him find his smile again, his sense of purpose.

“Have at it. Beat it till it falls off.”

His chuckle morphs into a pleasured-filled groan, and I peek over his shoulder again to watch as he shoots ropes of thick, white cum down the drain. My cock twitches, and I have to will it to stay soft.

Enough of this torture. Reaching around him, I shut the water off and grab him a towel. Droplets of water fall from his dark hair to drip down his back and I start there, toweling his skin dry. I work my way down his butt, and then his good leg, before turning him slightly to step in front of him. After his arms and chest are dry, I keep going down his stomach, following the trail of dark hair that leads to—

“Go ahead, you’re the last person who’s ever gonna touch it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I return as I pat him dry.

“You’re ridiculous! Who the hell is going to want me now?”

“Who wouldn’t?!” I get that he’s feeling down on himself, but why can’t he see what I see?

“Pull up some girl's number from your phone. We’ll send her a picture of our bodies. Guess which one she’s going to respond to?”

“Whatever, don’t be a jackass. In fact, those girls don’t know how good they have it. You’re doing them a favor.” While I continue gently drying his partial leg, I look down at his foot and laugh. “The only thing missing is your damn foot. I swear, I love you like a brother, but you have the nastiest fucking feet.” I straighten up to my full height and wrap the damp towel around his hips. “Always with the foot powder and the blisters. Hell, you’re better off now,” I tease.

It works like a charm. West smirks, but there’s also sadness in his smile. “I’m serious, Reaper. No one is ever going to want me like this.”

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