“That’s not true.”
“What?” His breath left in a rush and he dared to lift his eyes.
“I do like movies. Just…not now,” Diesel said, giving him a small smirk.
Triton lifted his head higher and locked his eyes on the man’s attractively bearded face.
“I need a shave,” Diesel grumbled and pulled a hand over his closely cropped mustache and beard.
“I can give you a shave and clean up your lines. Maybe a trim?” What the hell made him offer to do that? He froze, waiting for Diesel to tell him to fuck off.
Diesel stared at him so long that Triton dropped his head and squeezed his fork.
“I’ll take you up on that. It’s hard for me to stand on my leg long enough.”
Relief whooshed through him, making him almost lightheaded.
“Does the shower chair help?”
“Yeah,” Diesel grumbled as if embarrassed and continued to eat.
Triton’s heart hurt, and he tried to ease the man’s pain.
“I wish I’d had one of those.”
“When?” Diesel’s razor-sharp eyes locked on him, and Triton felt like he was under the gun. Uh oh. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.
He couldn’t know, could he?
“When I hurt my ankle when I fell,” he said automatically.
“Fell?”
He swallowed and reached for his glass of milk. “Yeah, I stepped off a curb.”
“What curb?”
“What?” He froze.
“What curb?”
“Out front of my apartment, why?”
“Just curious.”
Triton let out the breath he was holding when Diesel backed off. The man had almost tricked him into admitting that Clay had pushed him. Diesel didn’t need to know all that. Diesel didn’t need to know how pathetic he was. He wanted that part of his life to never touch Diesel.
He saw through the man’s gruff exterior to the gentle man beneath. He’d seen brief glimpses of Diesel’s caring nature in the big man’s eyes. Those intense greens were making silent promises that everything would be all right.
But nothing was all right. And never would be because Diesel wouldn’t always be around. That thought terrified him, and Triton wanted to take advantage of every minute they had together.
Diesel pushed away his plate and stood. Triton jumped up to hand over the crutches. He stood helplessly by as Diesel limped away.
“Are you coming?”
“What?” He gazed up blankly.
“Or was the offer of a shave a lie, like the ankle story?”
“No! It’s not a lie.” He gulped, pulse jumping, and hustled after Diesel to his bedroom. “And neither is the story!” But the lie sounded thin even to his own ears.
Diesel grunted and tossed the crutches down and then lowered to sit on the edge of the bed.
Triton hurried into the bathroom. Once there, he ran a small towel beneath the hot water and gathered up shaving items plus a bowl of warm water.
He tugged a chair across the floor and got on to it on his knees.
Diesel gave him a humorous smirk when Triton leaned closer.
Smiling, he dropped the hot towel over the man’s face and then giggled when Diesel grunted. It was such a relief to laugh.
After a few moments, he removed the towel and lathered up the strong jaw line, outlining the full beard and mustache.
Scraping the short hairs from Diesel’s neck was one of the most intimate and erotic things he’d ever done. It even surpassed giving massages because he had a tool in his hand that was dangerous, and Diesel trusted him with it.
With shaking fingers, he tipped Diesel’s chin up and drew the razor slowly through the creamy white, then rinsed the razor before repeating.
Diesel’s eyes stayed locked on his face and every so often, Triton would flick his own gaze upward and bask beneath the man’s approval.
The last white bit was scraped slowly away and he wiped the damp towel over Diesel’s neck before sliding it up and over his jaw, chin, and then his lips. He dreamily sighed and reached for a clean towel.
The chair he knelt upon wobbled. Big, hard hands came up and cinched at his waist.
“Be careful,” Diesel grumbled.
Was he angry? “Sorry.” He swallowed, bracing himself for the strike.
When after several seconds none came, he shakily finished wiping Diesel’s neck and face clean while the man continued to hold onto him, keeping him safe, saving him from a fall.
“All done.” He smiled.
Diesel released his grip.
With a pounding heart, Triton scrambled from the chair.
Handing over the hand mirror, Diesel studied his work. Triton took the opportunity to put space between them.
“You did a good job. Where did you learn this?”
“Thanks.” His pride swelled at the words. “I didn’t learn it anywhere, I just pick up things easy.”
“What is it you’re taking in school?”
“A-a-accounting.”
He backed toward the door, twisting his hands together.
“Don’t lie to me,” Diesel ordered.
How did Diesel always know when he was lying? “I’m a trained masseuse,” he blurted the truth.
“Really? Why did you just tell me you worked with numbers?” Diesel frowned.
“B-b-because I used to, but I hated it, so I got certified last year as a massage therapist.” His voice trembled.
Diesel squinted, looking thoughtful. “That was a very brave thing.”
“What was?” The words confused him, but his bewilderment couldn’t stop the glow from the words of praise.
“Becoming something you want to be and not what other people tell you that you should be.”
He searched, but couldn’t think of anything to say in response to Diesel’s approval.
Diesel rubbed a hand where his neck met his shoulder, and Triton’s fingers itched to massage his pain away.
“I can help you with your shoulder and back pain.”
Diesel abruptly dropped his hand, but said nothing.
“If I can’t practice, then I’ll lose my skills.” He bit his bottom lip.
Diesel narrowed his eyes.
“If you don’t like it after ten minutes, I’ll stop. I promise.” The words came in a rush, afraid that Diesel would say no, but just as afraid he’d say yes. His hands ached to touch Diesel.
“All right, but just for a little while,” Diesel finally conceded.
“Take off your shirt and lay face down on the bed if you can.”
“I can’t. I can lay on my side, though.”
“Okay, that will work.”
A few moments later, Diesel was stripped to the waist and on his side and Triton had lost his ability to speak. He swallowed down the moan that tried to bubble up, and his hands literally shook. Diesel’s chest was a sculpture of sleek, rock-hard muscles with a smattering of hair.
He swallowed hard and drew on his skills. He’s hurting and you’re lusting after him. Hadn’t shitty experiences with big men been his downfall? Keep it professional.
Pouring oil into his palms, he let it warm up and rubbed them together. Starting on the upper expanse of Diesel’s broad shoulders, he began kneading the large, tight muscles. Some of the tightness was from the injury, but a lot of it was from his touch; he could tell the difference.