Chapter 12
Title: Chapter 12
Fandom: Breakfast with Scot
Pairing: Eric/Sam
Rating: PG13ish
Summary: Beginnings story cont'd
Disclaimer: No ownership of characters of course
Link to all chapters unavez18.livejournal.com/2044.html
Eric would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t still nervous about going out with Sam. But once at the restaurant he was pleased to find most of those fears easily slipped away, and he realized he probably should have faced this particular hurdle a long time ago. Sam had picked an ordinary hamburger joint, probably because he was thinking more about Eric’s tastes than his own, and as they were seated in a small booth towards the back no one gave them so much as a second glance. Evidently there was no scarlet ‘F’ emblazoned on his chest; he was just a regular guy out enjoying a dinner with his friend.
And Sam was smiling so hard it was difficult not to feel immensely pleased with himself for giving him that much happiness. It was also difficult not to keep staring at him, as the smile he wore lit up his eyes in a way that seemed to keep Eric’s gaze captive. He realized rather belatedly that if anyone had been watching them they might have been able to put two and two together just from the way they were making ridiculous googly eyes at each other.
Midway through the meal, though, he was torn away from Sam’s eyes by a stranger’s voice.
“Oh my god, are you Eric McNally?” a woman with mousy brown hair asked. She was leaning over their table in a half-crouched stance, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater cardigan nervously.
Sam blinked at Eric in shock, apparently surprised that someone would recognize him. Despite his career choice, Eric knew Sam paid very little attention to the world of sports.
“Uh, yeah,” Eric said, fighting the instinctual urge to be rude so that this hovering stranger would leave them alone.
“I’m so sorry to intrude,” the woman continued, wringing her hands together. “It’s just that my husband was such a fan-we were so sorry to hear when you got hurt in that practice game. So unfair.”
“Yeah . . . yeah, it sucked . . .” Eric began, and as he did the woman turned and started gesturing frantically to someone sitting a few tables away.
The man-who was wearing a Leafs jacket, of course-got up and approached. “You’re Eric McNally!” he said excitedly when he arrived.
Now Eric wished he’d worn some sort of disguise to dinner. He’d experienced these sorts of ambushes before, but it had been so long since he’d spent any length of time in public that he’d managed to avoid them for quite a while. He wondered if Sam would be annoyed by the interruption, but when he glanced over Sam was wearing an expression of complete fascination, and the notion that Sam might be impressed pleased him. Maybe getting recognized wasn’t so bad after all.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he said.
The man reached out to shake his hand. “Well, you don’t look that bad off-will you ever be able to play again?” he asked.
“Not pro,” Eric said with a sad shake of his head.
“That’s rough, man-what are you going to do? Gonna be on TV or something analyzing games? That’s what the good guys who get busted up usually do.”
“Uh, don’t know about TV . . . but I’ll probably be taking a radio gig commenting on some of the games.”
“That’s great,” the man’s wife said. “But you have a face for TV, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Her husband rolled his eyes. “Well, we’re sorry to have bothered you, but it was really great meeting you, man. Good luck with everything.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Eric said as they walked away. He turned back to Sam with a wry grin. “The price of former stardom,” he joked.
“So, you’re going to take that job?” Sam asked.
Eric deliberated for a moment. He hadn’t wanted the couple to think he was just lying around, wallowing in self-pity, but that actually wasn’t too far off from what he had been doing. Maybe it was about time he got on with his life. “Well, if the fans demand it,” he said with a laugh.
Sam smiled back at him with a happy look of approval and pride. “That’s good, Eric. That’s really good,” he said. Then with those uncommonly long arms of his he reached out and laid his hand against Eric’s knee, stroking it gently with his thumb and slowly making his way upwards.
Eric’s gut twisted in panic as he quickly looked around to see if the couple or anyone else was watching them. He grabbed at Sam’s fingers, hastily pushing it away.
Sam’s expression saddened immediately and he looked down, causing Eric’s heart to tighten as if squeezed by some invisible hand of guilt. Perhaps going out hadn’t been such a good idea. In many ways he felt like Sam was always discreetly pressuring him, always pushing him for more than he said he could give. Sure, he wasn’t overt about it, but a sneaky pusher was a pusher nonetheless. Touching him in public like that was just one more example of Sam’s subversive attempts to take Eric out of his comfort zone, and it caused him to wonder at what point Sam would stop asking for more.
But this evening was supposed to be about Sam, and even if Eric knew he could never be the man Sam wanted him to be, he still didn't want to see him sad.
He tapped his finger on the table to catch Sam’s attention. “Wait till we get home,” he whispered. “Then you can touch me all you want, and hopefully you'll let me touch you all I want. Because I really want to, you know. I really want you.”
Sam flushed slightly and looked away for a moment. When he returned eye contact again he’d curved his mouth into his amazing smile, and Eric found himself digging his fingernails into his palm to distract himself from thinking about what he’d like that mouth to be doing to him right then. “Let’s skip desert,” he said huskily.
*
Sam had the keys to the house but before he could even put them in the lock Eric crushed him up against the front door. He reached around Sam with his good arm and began tearing at the buttons of his shirt in a feeble attempt to open them one-handedly.
“Shit, Sam,” he said. “I really want you right now.”
Sam laughed and managed to open the door despite the surprise attack. “Well, they say you always want what you can’t have, so maybe not being able to grab me like this out in public makes you want me more.”
“Well, fuck me, maybe so,” Eric replied as they tumbled towards the stairs.
“You’re going to fall down and break your other arm,” Sam chastised with a laugh as Eric was still attempting to undress him while they made their way up to the bedroom.
“Would you take care of me if I did?” Eric laughed too, but stopped his ministrations long enough for them to reach their destination.
They slammed into the bed and went at it with as much energy as they’d ever had-- lips and hands crashing onto every part of each other’s bodies. Sometimes Eric still felt like he was in a hurry when it came to intimacy- a leftover habit borne of the clandestine fucks from his hockey days- but not on this night. And if he really thought about it, he’d been feeling that way less and less lately; and maybe he’d never feel that way again. He had time now, time enough to draw it out so they could teasingly bring each other to the verge and back, time enough to let the desire build and release and then build and release once again, and time enough to find the rhythm that allowed them to share those orgasmic moments, which somehow made them that much more intense.
They stopped only when exhaustion overtook them, breathing hard and lying prone against the damp, twisted sheets. It was dark outside, much darker than it had ever been at Eric’s old place in the city, and only the faint moonlight shone in, barely illuminating the layer of sweat that covered both their bodies. Eric reached over and pulled Sam tightly against his chest, enjoying the feeling of heat that he radiated in the relatively cool evening. He gently brushed away a lock of Sam’s hair that had curled up with the moisture on his forehead.
They stared silently into each other’s eyes for a full minute until Sam stretched up and cupped Eric’s face, kissing each of his eyelids and then his lips softly.
“Eric . . . I love you,” Sam whispered.
*********
Mark had never had a problem with being touched in public. In fact, he had probably been more into displays of affection than Sam had been. So getting used to Eric’s bubble of personal space would take a little time. He didn’t really think that touching a kneecap was all that “obvious,” although he knew he probably could have done without the stroking part. But Eric had gone out of his way to make him feel better after pushing him away, and in general Sam found he wasn’t as bothered by Eric’s reaction as he might have expected. He actually thought he might be able to handle that particular rule.
After all, Eric had taken him out. He had taken him out and they had sat together in public, sharing a meal, talking and laughing and acting completely natural, like it was something they did all the time. Like it was something they could start to do all the time.
But the most exhilarating part of the evening-before they’d gotten home, of course-had been the way that Eric had looked at him all through the night. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on what it was that was in Eric’s gaze, but there was definitely something. True, his eyes darted away every time the waitress came near, but as soon as she’d left, those eyes would be back again, staring deeply into his in a way that made Sam feel completely lost; but lost in something wonderful.
And after their round of raucous sex the look was still there, so it couldn’t have been just about physical desire, because Sam was thoroughly sure they had expended all of that need in their hour or so of lovemaking. Eric brushed his forehead gently, and the touch allowed the words that had been forming in the back of Sam’s mind to fight their way free. Once on his tongue he started to tremble from the power of the emotion he’d been holding back, and he knew then he wouldn’t be able to keep it in much longer. He reached up and kissed Eric’s face gently, checking to make sure the look was still there before he allowed the words to spill out of his lips.
“Eric, I love you.”
Eric stiffened against him and it felt like an eternity before he spoke. “Sam,” he said sadly. “No.” He backed up from Sam’s still sweat-covered body. “I can’t . . . I can’t do that.”
Sam wasn’t sure he could respond. The pure joy he’d been experiencing only a moment earlier had darkened so rapidly he’d lost his breath and a lump had immediately formed in his throat. “Can’t do what?” he rasped.
“I can’t do that, Sam. I can’t do that because that . . . that means a relationship . . . and I can’t . . .”
Sam pulled back as well so that they were now as far apart on the bed as they could be. “And just what is it you think this is?” The lump in his throat was threatening to turn into what he feared would be uncontrollable tears. He’d had a feeling that when things went bad they were going to go quickly, but he still wasn’t prepared, least of all on this night.
“I just don’t think I can give you what you want, Sammy . . . I’m going to take that job and I’ll be working near the players and stuff and I can’t let them find out . . .” Eric trailed off and his eyes shone nothing but shame now.
Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he croaked.
He got out of bed then, silently, and put on his clothes. He slowly began gathering up the belongings he hadn’t even had a chance to put away in the new furniture-a shirt here, a pair of pants there-and folding them neatly. He didn’t feel the need to rush or shout dramatically, but at the same time, he knew that this was it.
“Sammy.” Eric sat up from the bed when he had nearly completed his task.
Sam shook his head. “No, Eric,” he said.
“I don’t want you to go,” Eric continued anyways. “But we don’t want the same things, Sam. It’s my choice, and I just don’t want people to know that I’m . . . that I’m . . .”
“What? Gay?” Sam said softly. “Well, I’m gay, Eric, and if you’re ashamed of yourself, then you’re ashamed of me . . . but I’m not, and I can’t do this anymore.”
“Sammy . . .”
Sam held up a hand. “Listen, I’m sure you could say something to get me to stay right now, but I’m going to ask you not to. We both know you’d just break my heart further on down the line, and I’d like to avoid that now if at all possible.” He was surprised at how calm he sounded. Probably because it was a speech he had thought up some time ago, though he had hoped he would never, ever have to use it. So much for hope.
Eric rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah,” he said so quietly his voice was barely audible. “You’re right.”
Sam finished gathering his belongings and left, but it was far too late and he knew it.
His heart was already broken.
**********
Next Chapter 13
Fandom: Breakfast with Scot
Pairing: Eric/Sam
Rating: PG13ish
Summary: Beginnings story cont'd
Disclaimer: No ownership of characters of course
Link to all chapters unavez18.livejournal.com/2044.html
Eric would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t still nervous about going out with Sam. But once at the restaurant he was pleased to find most of those fears easily slipped away, and he realized he probably should have faced this particular hurdle a long time ago. Sam had picked an ordinary hamburger joint, probably because he was thinking more about Eric’s tastes than his own, and as they were seated in a small booth towards the back no one gave them so much as a second glance. Evidently there was no scarlet ‘F’ emblazoned on his chest; he was just a regular guy out enjoying a dinner with his friend.
And Sam was smiling so hard it was difficult not to feel immensely pleased with himself for giving him that much happiness. It was also difficult not to keep staring at him, as the smile he wore lit up his eyes in a way that seemed to keep Eric’s gaze captive. He realized rather belatedly that if anyone had been watching them they might have been able to put two and two together just from the way they were making ridiculous googly eyes at each other.
Midway through the meal, though, he was torn away from Sam’s eyes by a stranger’s voice.
“Oh my god, are you Eric McNally?” a woman with mousy brown hair asked. She was leaning over their table in a half-crouched stance, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater cardigan nervously.
Sam blinked at Eric in shock, apparently surprised that someone would recognize him. Despite his career choice, Eric knew Sam paid very little attention to the world of sports.
“Uh, yeah,” Eric said, fighting the instinctual urge to be rude so that this hovering stranger would leave them alone.
“I’m so sorry to intrude,” the woman continued, wringing her hands together. “It’s just that my husband was such a fan-we were so sorry to hear when you got hurt in that practice game. So unfair.”
“Yeah . . . yeah, it sucked . . .” Eric began, and as he did the woman turned and started gesturing frantically to someone sitting a few tables away.
The man-who was wearing a Leafs jacket, of course-got up and approached. “You’re Eric McNally!” he said excitedly when he arrived.
Now Eric wished he’d worn some sort of disguise to dinner. He’d experienced these sorts of ambushes before, but it had been so long since he’d spent any length of time in public that he’d managed to avoid them for quite a while. He wondered if Sam would be annoyed by the interruption, but when he glanced over Sam was wearing an expression of complete fascination, and the notion that Sam might be impressed pleased him. Maybe getting recognized wasn’t so bad after all.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he said.
The man reached out to shake his hand. “Well, you don’t look that bad off-will you ever be able to play again?” he asked.
“Not pro,” Eric said with a sad shake of his head.
“That’s rough, man-what are you going to do? Gonna be on TV or something analyzing games? That’s what the good guys who get busted up usually do.”
“Uh, don’t know about TV . . . but I’ll probably be taking a radio gig commenting on some of the games.”
“That’s great,” the man’s wife said. “But you have a face for TV, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Her husband rolled his eyes. “Well, we’re sorry to have bothered you, but it was really great meeting you, man. Good luck with everything.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Eric said as they walked away. He turned back to Sam with a wry grin. “The price of former stardom,” he joked.
“So, you’re going to take that job?” Sam asked.
Eric deliberated for a moment. He hadn’t wanted the couple to think he was just lying around, wallowing in self-pity, but that actually wasn’t too far off from what he had been doing. Maybe it was about time he got on with his life. “Well, if the fans demand it,” he said with a laugh.
Sam smiled back at him with a happy look of approval and pride. “That’s good, Eric. That’s really good,” he said. Then with those uncommonly long arms of his he reached out and laid his hand against Eric’s knee, stroking it gently with his thumb and slowly making his way upwards.
Eric’s gut twisted in panic as he quickly looked around to see if the couple or anyone else was watching them. He grabbed at Sam’s fingers, hastily pushing it away.
Sam’s expression saddened immediately and he looked down, causing Eric’s heart to tighten as if squeezed by some invisible hand of guilt. Perhaps going out hadn’t been such a good idea. In many ways he felt like Sam was always discreetly pressuring him, always pushing him for more than he said he could give. Sure, he wasn’t overt about it, but a sneaky pusher was a pusher nonetheless. Touching him in public like that was just one more example of Sam’s subversive attempts to take Eric out of his comfort zone, and it caused him to wonder at what point Sam would stop asking for more.
But this evening was supposed to be about Sam, and even if Eric knew he could never be the man Sam wanted him to be, he still didn't want to see him sad.
He tapped his finger on the table to catch Sam’s attention. “Wait till we get home,” he whispered. “Then you can touch me all you want, and hopefully you'll let me touch you all I want. Because I really want to, you know. I really want you.”
Sam flushed slightly and looked away for a moment. When he returned eye contact again he’d curved his mouth into his amazing smile, and Eric found himself digging his fingernails into his palm to distract himself from thinking about what he’d like that mouth to be doing to him right then. “Let’s skip desert,” he said huskily.
*
Sam had the keys to the house but before he could even put them in the lock Eric crushed him up against the front door. He reached around Sam with his good arm and began tearing at the buttons of his shirt in a feeble attempt to open them one-handedly.
“Shit, Sam,” he said. “I really want you right now.”
Sam laughed and managed to open the door despite the surprise attack. “Well, they say you always want what you can’t have, so maybe not being able to grab me like this out in public makes you want me more.”
“Well, fuck me, maybe so,” Eric replied as they tumbled towards the stairs.
“You’re going to fall down and break your other arm,” Sam chastised with a laugh as Eric was still attempting to undress him while they made their way up to the bedroom.
“Would you take care of me if I did?” Eric laughed too, but stopped his ministrations long enough for them to reach their destination.
They slammed into the bed and went at it with as much energy as they’d ever had-- lips and hands crashing onto every part of each other’s bodies. Sometimes Eric still felt like he was in a hurry when it came to intimacy- a leftover habit borne of the clandestine fucks from his hockey days- but not on this night. And if he really thought about it, he’d been feeling that way less and less lately; and maybe he’d never feel that way again. He had time now, time enough to draw it out so they could teasingly bring each other to the verge and back, time enough to let the desire build and release and then build and release once again, and time enough to find the rhythm that allowed them to share those orgasmic moments, which somehow made them that much more intense.
They stopped only when exhaustion overtook them, breathing hard and lying prone against the damp, twisted sheets. It was dark outside, much darker than it had ever been at Eric’s old place in the city, and only the faint moonlight shone in, barely illuminating the layer of sweat that covered both their bodies. Eric reached over and pulled Sam tightly against his chest, enjoying the feeling of heat that he radiated in the relatively cool evening. He gently brushed away a lock of Sam’s hair that had curled up with the moisture on his forehead.
They stared silently into each other’s eyes for a full minute until Sam stretched up and cupped Eric’s face, kissing each of his eyelids and then his lips softly.
“Eric . . . I love you,” Sam whispered.
*********
Mark had never had a problem with being touched in public. In fact, he had probably been more into displays of affection than Sam had been. So getting used to Eric’s bubble of personal space would take a little time. He didn’t really think that touching a kneecap was all that “obvious,” although he knew he probably could have done without the stroking part. But Eric had gone out of his way to make him feel better after pushing him away, and in general Sam found he wasn’t as bothered by Eric’s reaction as he might have expected. He actually thought he might be able to handle that particular rule.
After all, Eric had taken him out. He had taken him out and they had sat together in public, sharing a meal, talking and laughing and acting completely natural, like it was something they did all the time. Like it was something they could start to do all the time.
But the most exhilarating part of the evening-before they’d gotten home, of course-had been the way that Eric had looked at him all through the night. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on what it was that was in Eric’s gaze, but there was definitely something. True, his eyes darted away every time the waitress came near, but as soon as she’d left, those eyes would be back again, staring deeply into his in a way that made Sam feel completely lost; but lost in something wonderful.
And after their round of raucous sex the look was still there, so it couldn’t have been just about physical desire, because Sam was thoroughly sure they had expended all of that need in their hour or so of lovemaking. Eric brushed his forehead gently, and the touch allowed the words that had been forming in the back of Sam’s mind to fight their way free. Once on his tongue he started to tremble from the power of the emotion he’d been holding back, and he knew then he wouldn’t be able to keep it in much longer. He reached up and kissed Eric’s face gently, checking to make sure the look was still there before he allowed the words to spill out of his lips.
“Eric, I love you.”
Eric stiffened against him and it felt like an eternity before he spoke. “Sam,” he said sadly. “No.” He backed up from Sam’s still sweat-covered body. “I can’t . . . I can’t do that.”
Sam wasn’t sure he could respond. The pure joy he’d been experiencing only a moment earlier had darkened so rapidly he’d lost his breath and a lump had immediately formed in his throat. “Can’t do what?” he rasped.
“I can’t do that, Sam. I can’t do that because that . . . that means a relationship . . . and I can’t . . .”
Sam pulled back as well so that they were now as far apart on the bed as they could be. “And just what is it you think this is?” The lump in his throat was threatening to turn into what he feared would be uncontrollable tears. He’d had a feeling that when things went bad they were going to go quickly, but he still wasn’t prepared, least of all on this night.
“I just don’t think I can give you what you want, Sammy . . . I’m going to take that job and I’ll be working near the players and stuff and I can’t let them find out . . .” Eric trailed off and his eyes shone nothing but shame now.
Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he croaked.
He got out of bed then, silently, and put on his clothes. He slowly began gathering up the belongings he hadn’t even had a chance to put away in the new furniture-a shirt here, a pair of pants there-and folding them neatly. He didn’t feel the need to rush or shout dramatically, but at the same time, he knew that this was it.
“Sammy.” Eric sat up from the bed when he had nearly completed his task.
Sam shook his head. “No, Eric,” he said.
“I don’t want you to go,” Eric continued anyways. “But we don’t want the same things, Sam. It’s my choice, and I just don’t want people to know that I’m . . . that I’m . . .”
“What? Gay?” Sam said softly. “Well, I’m gay, Eric, and if you’re ashamed of yourself, then you’re ashamed of me . . . but I’m not, and I can’t do this anymore.”
“Sammy . . .”
Sam held up a hand. “Listen, I’m sure you could say something to get me to stay right now, but I’m going to ask you not to. We both know you’d just break my heart further on down the line, and I’d like to avoid that now if at all possible.” He was surprised at how calm he sounded. Probably because it was a speech he had thought up some time ago, though he had hoped he would never, ever have to use it. So much for hope.
Eric rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah,” he said so quietly his voice was barely audible. “You’re right.”
Sam finished gathering his belongings and left, but it was far too late and he knew it.
His heart was already broken.
**********
Next Chapter 13