Short Stories [Man on Man]

Not His to Keep [5]

Sean took a huge sip of his coffee, burnt his tongue, and set the mug back down. He looked at his computer, at all the documents he still had to write up. The anger he'd felt moments ago had dissipated, replaced by guilt at having been so harsh.

But wasn't that exactly what Beau had done to him, all those years ago? He'd told him to grow up, that their relationship hadn't meant anything when it clearly had – to the both of them. Yet, Sean still felt a strange sense of guilt. Guilt and a need to have that tongue and body pressed back against his in that familiar, rough way.

Maybe he was the bigger man in this case, even if he was younger. Because he had grown up. He wasn't the same man he'd been five years ago. Otherwise, he wouldn't currently be thinking about barging into the guy's office and begging him to not be bad.

But Sean knew he couldn't travel down that path again. So why was he thinking about scrapping his newly-found morals and debating about whether or not he should talk to Beau?

He looked down at his work, began to type up something, but his head began to pound. After turning off his monitor, Sean leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face. He felt tired, his eyes burned. All he wanted to do was sleep, so he wouldn't have to think about the man who still had a claim on his heart.

Who'd always had a claim on his heart.

They could be friends, at least. Yeah, friends. He repeated the mantra to himself as he stood up, left his office, and went the short distance it was to Beau's. He rapped his knuckles on the thick glass, but there was no response. Taking in a deep breath, Sean pushed the door open, shutting it quietly behind him.

He found Beau leaning against the window sill, face turned away from him and to the city. The man wasn't wearing a suit coat, just a button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing long, muscled, tan arms. That ass filled out those pants perfectly.

Sean could feel himself getting hard. He cursed himself for it.

“Beau,” he said, hesitantly.

The older man didn't turn from the window. “Yeah?”

“I just...I came in here to apologize. I shouldn't have said those things.” He adjusted his aching length. “I guess I just hold onto things too long, ya know? But we're good, right?”

“Right.”

“I'd like it if we could be...friends again. Would that be okay?”

Beau nodded.

Those fingers curled against the sill, knuckles white.

He turned to go.

“Sean. Please. Don't l-ea-eave.”

The pain in those words was what made Sean turn back. Only when he did, he wished he hadn't. Tears poured from the older man's eyes, his skin pale, eyes swollen. It was in that moment that he really saw how much Beau was hurting, really felt how much the man still affected him.

“I'm sorry.” Beau sobbed. “I'm so sorry.”

Sean took the man's shoulders in his hands and brought him over to a chair, easing Beau down. “Hey, it's gonna be okay. You're okay. It's all gonna be alright. Just sit down. Do you want anything? Something to drink? I can-”

He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, lowering his head between his legs. His back racked with strangled cries, chest heaving, muffled cries escaping. Sean didn't think. He just reacted. Placing one hand on Beau's back, he massaged the tightness there, trailing his fingers up and down, willing to do anything to make the man stop hurting.