No, he certainly wasn’t terrible. And Apollo wasn’t really thinking about Neal’s practiced, almost clinical touch right then. Neal had always approached Apollo’s back flare-ups by going into health care professional mode, and his touch, while welcome, had usually had a certain detachment to it that Dylan’s lacked. There was a sensuousness to his movements—
No that’s all you reading into it. He’s just trying to be helpful. There was nothing overtly seductive about Dylan’s voice or his strong hands, which kneaded Apollo’s muscles but didn’t caress or linger.
“So how’d you get ‘not terrible’ at this?” Apollo asked to distract himself from how much he wanted the contact to linger. Dylan didn’t answer right away, thumbs digging into Apollo’s delts. “Fuck. Right there.”
“Yeah, you didn’t need this at all.” Dylan laughed. “I’m a nice guy with a thing for athletes. Plenty of sprains and strains and hard practices to recover from. And I picked some stuff up from the team trainers too.”
“Athletes?” Apollo couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. “Not...”
“You know, contrary to the impression I gave you eight years ago, my type isn’t really too-old-for me bad boys.”
Damn. Apollo tensed, wanting to evict that traitorous thought from his brain. No, he didn’t care if Dylan’s tastes had morphed from macking on his brother’s friends to jock boys.
“But I did have this...thing with one of the trainers my junior year.” Dylan laughed.
“Why’d it end?” Apollo stretched to meet Dylan’s touch, drawing this conversation out just to keep his hands on him.
“We had differing definitions of exclusive. Like I said, I’m better as a boyfriend than someone’s hook-up on the side.”
“Good for you. Stand up for...oh. There.”
“Yeah?” Dylan’s voice seemed deeper, but that might have been Apollo’s overheated brain. “Want me to go lower?”
Yes, yes, yes, Apollo’s dick volunteered. He means your back, horn dog. And as much as logic told him to end this pleasant interlude, his sore muscles answered for him. “Okay.”
Apollo moved to sit on a higher step so that he was still lower than Dylan but more of his back was exposed. He twisted so that he could point on his back. “Here. Not here or here.”
“So avoid the scar essentially?” Dylan’s touch was more tentative now. “I’m sure you’re sick of hearing it, but man. You are one lucky guy to be able to still walk, let alone get back to active duty.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.” Apollo wrenched away, not wanting to be inspected like some sort of medical freak show.
“Chill.” Dylan scooted closer, stroking Apollo’s flank like he might gentle a horse. “Just tell me if I’m about to make things worse.”
Just being here like this is making it worse. It was the truth—they were walking a knife edge between casual friendship and...something else, something Apollo refused to name. All of a sudden, he was all too aware that this was the first time another man had really touched him since Neal. And these exploratory, cautious touches were very un-Neal-like. Dylan ran his knuckles down Apollo’s spine, making Apollo shiver. There was something unbelievably sexy about Dylan’s hesitance, and Apollo’s cock stirred.
“This okay?”
No. “Yeah,” he said, voice too gruff. He needed to end this, but then Dylan found a knot of nerve-endings that seemed to have been waiting for his thumbs, and Apollo gasped from how damn good it felt. His head fell back, connecting with Dylan’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open to find Dylan’s summer sky eyes right there, watching him. Waiting for him.
Fuck. His face was so close that his warm breath tickled Apollo’s cheek. “This good?”
He continued to work that spot, and Apollo moaned, low and lusty.
No. Not lusty. No lusting. This is—
Dylan. Dylan, who was right there. Did he arch up? Did Dylan bend forward? Such questions flittered away as soft lips grazed his mouth. And oh holy fuck, Apollo needed this every bit as much as he’d needed those hands on him. His tongue snaked out, tracing the seam of Dylan’s lips, desperate for a taste.
“Oh.” Just that single, soft surprised sound from Dylan cut through his fog. What the fuck was he doing? Kissing Dustin’s little brother? Kissing someone not Neal? That last one made his throat burn as he pulled away. Fucking thinking with your dick, idiot. He didn’t get to have trysts with the babysitter while Neal was...not here. Not ever going to be here again.
It was all too much for him. “We can’t do this.” Pulling away, he stood. And yeah, he was hard, and Dylan probably wasn’t going to miss that, but fuck. He couldn’t stay in that tub another minute.
“Wait. Let’s talk—” Dylan stood too.
“No talking.” Apollo buried his face in a towel. His ring caught on a loose thread, sending a jolt of guilt straight to his heart. He was the worst kind of idiot, letting this happen.