Some Good Doctoring
This is a m/m story featuring the men of the Roughstock world.
Callum Jones was trying hard to get Riley Mack to calm down.
The kid was new on the bullriding tour, had come up from Houston where things were tougher than usual for a cowboy, and was used to brawling his way out of anything. Too bad he’d bitten off more than he could chew. The damned fool been a little careless behind the chutes, one of the Brazilians had taken a shot from a horn, and now all hell was breaking loose.
In his sports medicine room. With, like, five guys on tables bleeding and broken because it had been a fucking rough night. Riley should be damned grateful he’d only gotten a twisted ankle out of it all when he’d stumbled down the stairs that led to the arena floor.
Especially when stumble really meant shoved none too gently and God knew, he loved Balta, but those boys took a raft of shit and, when they needed to, they could come together in one pissed off mass.
“Guys, come on. Y’all need to calm down. No one wants to cause any more damage here tonight.” Jonesy stepped in, trying to get between Riley and Eduardo, who had been posturing at each other since they’d gotten treatment. Even Balta hadn’t been able to calm Eduardo down, which meant Eduardo was really feeling ill-used. He was a reasonable guy.
Jonesy’d just gotten up by Riley’s shoulder when Riley spun around, the air seeming to part around him. “Back off, you pansy motherfucker.”
Riley swung before he was done talking. The smack to Jonesy’s nose came too quick to see and sent him wheeling backward, arms spinning.
“Jesus!” His feet tried to tangle up, but he caught himself on one boot heel and righted his downward progress. Jonesy put a hand to his nose, coming away with blood. His eyes watered, and his face was already starting to swell. Fucking A. It wasn’t broken, he didn’t think, but it was sure gonna be sore.
Riley stepped toward him again and he heard a deep, low growl, seeing Riley’s big old hands clenched into fists. Jonesy wasn’t about to fight with so much shit in there that could be broken. Including him. He held his hands up, backing up until he hit a gurney.
“Oh, I don’t fucking think so.” Cody Butler’s chest slapped against Riley’s belly, the short little fuck stopping the man in his tracks, just like Riley had hit a fucking brick wall. Or Fearless Pharris. Those blue chaps flapped against Cody’s legs, the sound of his spurs seeming loud. Jonesy hadn’t even known CB was in the room, but damn, he was glad to see the little fuck.
“Riley.” Balta tried to step in and got a shove in the chest, Riley turning back to Cody quick as a snake. Way to make an enemy. Balta wouldn’t soon forget that. This kid was looking to get his ass handed to him.
“Biscuit…” Jonesy turned to Cody, holding out a hand. The last thing Jonesy needed was for his pocket cowboy to get hurt fighting Riley, who was twice Cody’s size. He needed Biscuit whole. He’d spent a lot of time nursing the man off the injured list and waiting until they could do more than rub and give hand jobs.
Riley reached down to grab Cody, and as soon as he did, Cody landed two punches to the man’s abdomen — bang, bang — sending him stepping back, reeling a little. For about half a second, Jonesy thought it would all be over. But no.
Riley made some derogatory comment about CB’s momma, and Jonesy just sighed. There was no stopping it once a mother got brought into the picture. When Riley grabbed for Biscuit, the man was more than ready to hit him again.
This time in the face. It was like Biscuit had to jump to reach, but he did it anyway, the crack of his fist hitting Riley’s face echoing. It was damned creepy.
“You never fucking touch these boys again. Never. You hear me? Not the Brazilians, not nobody who was nice enough to patch your sorry ass up. These men here are the good guys. You hear me, you lousy prick asshole?”
Cody landed more blows, a flurry of them, whacking Riley everywhere the little cowboy could reach. By the time it was all over, Riley was moaning, clutching his breadbasket, and Cody was hardly winded. Biscuit waved at Shaun, who watched, mouth hanging open. “You take care of these assholes. I’ll see to Jonesy.”
Jonesy blinked, or tried to. Man, that hurt. His lips were a little swollen, too. Christ, Riley had big fucking hands.
Before Shaun could get to them, CB grabbed Riley by the back of the neck, shook him hard, dragging him back to Jonesy like Riley was nothing but a puppy who’d pooped inside. “Apologize to Jonesy. Now.”
“‘M’sorry.” The word came out choked, but it would do. For now. Riley would pay for this stunt with more than a sore belly, and Jonesy knew it. Doc was there now, and no one made a fuss in Doc’s med room.
“Let Shaun look at you,” Jonesy snarled at Riley. “Cody, can you get me some ice?”
Riley was sort of… tossed at Shaun, then Eduardo (and Balta and Raul and Silvano) got a nod on the way to the little fridge. Cody didn’t hold with anyone messing with the riders from other countries, whether Brazilian or Aussie or Canadian or Mexican.
“You guys good?” Eduardo had seen Doc, he thought, so everything should be all right. The man had a mild concussion, but that was it. Jonesy could maybe take a break. Hopefully he could go sit a minute before they had to break down the sports medicine room and get it ready to travel to the next event.
“Sim. Sim. Desculpa.” Eduardo nodded.
Balta smiled, shrugged before clapping Eduardo on the arm. The man was a force of nature, keeping the other riders in line, and he drew Eduardo away, murmuring in Portuguese.
Cody grabbed his arm, hauled him up and rested the ice pack on his face. The shock of it had him choking a little, trying to breathe. The first rush of ice was always harsh.
“I got you. I got you. Pant a little. It helps. I should know.” Cody’s hand was on the back of his head, steadying him, keeping the world from spinning. “Okay. Taking him home, Doc. Now. Event’s over. See ya.”
Then his little bulldog man started dragging him, not even waiting to see if Doc was gonna balk at his senior clinician being hauled off like a sack of feed.
Doc Madding just chuckled, tossed CB his bag. “Bye. Keep the ice on and take a hot, steamy shower late tonight. Call me tomorrow.”
Jonesy grinned and nodded, letting CB pull him along, trying not to focus on just how hot it was. “Just taking me away like Calgon?”
“You know it, Callum. Need to check you out.” His cowboy was the only one who called him Callum. It was cute. Okay, it was more than cute.
“It’s just my nose. Nothing else is damaged.” “Home” was gonna have to be the hotel. Their flight wasn’t going out until morning. Then they could really go home for a few days and kick back. Swim. Sleep. Eat brisket. Good stuff.
“Uh-huh. Still. Need to. Motherfucker. Hitting on you. Asshole.” Those boots hit the concrete floor hard, the sound ringing out. For a little shit, Cody could stomp.
“It’s okay, CB.” CB, Cody, Biscuit… Man, names did get complicated around bullriding, with all those nicknames. Jonesy loved the man, no matter what he was called. He loved everything about the banty little rooster, from his temper to his one crooked front tooth.
“Yeah.” CB got him into the truck, strapped him in like he was broken, then crawled up to head out toward the hotel, taking it way easier than he usually drove. Good man. Jonesy didn’t think he could stand to get thrown around.
Jonesy pressed the ice pack to his face, trying to numb things down. “Riley will get suspended from the league. Ace don’t hold with what he got up to tonight.” Besides, it wasn’t the cowboy way.
“Good. Little motherfucker is lucky I didn’t rip his fucking dick off, beat him with it, and then shove it up his motherfucking nose. It was one thing, being a friggin’ horse’s ass in the arena where the entire fucking world can see and making us look like piece of shit hillbillies, but then the jackass goes and loses his shit in sports medicine? Hitting my man…”
He wasn’t sure what was better — that the shortest bullrider on tour called Riley little or that CB was growling and defending him, blowing hard and cussing like a sailor.
Probably the latter. It was hot as hell, and he would reward CB accordingly as soon as his nose stopped throbbing so bad. He knew from experience that it would probably not stop altogether for days, but the ice would give him enough relief to give CB a friendly hand or something. Something hot and lube-filled. Woo.
CB got them to the hotel, parking as close as he could without blocking the handicapped spaces. Then they went up to the room, Cody snarling and baring his teeth at anyone who stopped them or got in their way. Even Nattie the bullfighter got a short reply when he asked what had happened on the elevator trip to the fifth floor.
His bulldog man.
Then Cody got them into their room, even the hotel bed looking inviting. CB got him stretched out on the bed and then disappeared, ice bucket in hand, the door clicking shut behind him.
Jonesy listened to his heartbeat for a bit, pondering the TV remote and a little easy channel surfing. Moving like that seemed like a lot of work, so he decided against it. The adrenaline rush was fading, and he was a little shaky. A little achy.
Then the door opened and a Sprite bottle was pushed into his hand. Cody started working his clothes off, and Jonesy didn’t have the will to fight it, even if he did desperately want some food.
“You’re taking good care of me, Biscuit.” What else could he say? It was so nice, to let someone else do the doctoring, to not have to pretend like he was okay and soldier on.
One blond eyebrow went up, CB staring at him a moment. “‘Course I am. You’re mine.”
“I am.” He tried a smile, and was surprised when it didn’t cause blinding agony. The ice was kicking in. He opened the Sprite, took the two Advil CB handed him, swallowing them down. “So, what’s next?”
“Well, I order us food, give you a hand job before the food comes, give you that hot shower Doc was talking about, possibly suck you off, possibly just jack off, then watch Criminal Minds and fall asleep.”
“Wow.” CB had a plan. It even sounded like a mostly sound plan. Good man. They could better it some, he thought. “You could get me to give you a hand job, though. You don’t have to jack off. Hell, if you suck real good, you might just get to fuck me.” Sucking CB off was kind of out of the question, what with his face the way it was. There was no damage to his ass, though, and his body already liked the idea of them getting happy.
“Now, Callum, you know I suck better than good.” He got a grin, a wink, then the man grabbed the room service menu. Cody flipped through the pages, grumbling a little at the lack of selection. “You want chicken or soup and sandwich?”
“Soup and a sandwich, I think. Like chicken salad if they have it. I bet they have potato soup.” He’d go with soft. His teeth didn’t feel wiggly, but chewing grilled chicken at a hotel might be a dicey thing. A man could chew on that for hours and not get anywhere.
“They do. You got it.” When CB got going, the man was like a mini-drill instructor, grabbing the phone and growling out an order for baked potato soup, loaded, and chicken salad sandwich and (yet another) hamburger and a pot of coffee and four waters.
“Ice cream,” Jonesy whispered, and CB ordered them two bowls of vanilla ice cream, too. That rocked. Jonesy loved ice cream like nothing else but maybe Cody.
CB hung up the phone, took off his hat, and took off his sponsor’s shirt. Jonesy could see the tension across CB’s shoulders, the wiry muscles tight as anything. He liked the look of CB’s butt, though, when the Wranglers came off.
“C’mere, man.” Damn, he didn’t need CB all tied up in knots. He needed Cody to be happy enough to really get into the pleasure. “Come sit with me.”
Cody nodded and sat, one hand sliding up and down Jonesy’s thigh. “Don’t like it when someone gets onto you, Callum. You ain’t meant for beating on.”
“Well, no.” He thought on that a moment, his hand covering CB’s. He didn’t think he was the pansy ass that Riley said he was. “I’m not a pussy, though.”
“Nope. You took that like a man. Still, you’re a man of healing. It ain’t right. It’s damn near as bad as hitting a bull fighter.” The stubborn set of Cody’s jaw made him want to kiss the man. The sore nose made him think twice.
The bullfighter thing was some kind of ringing endorsement. To be put in the same league as Coke Pharris was special among bullriders. “Mmm. I like that.” He pulled Cody’s hand up to his belly, letting the man feel him, his cock warming a bit. Cody had amazing hands, strong from pulling rope, scarred a little.
“‘Sides, you’re mine.” Cody leaned in and kissed his navel, his trail to glory, lips tugging the hairs so careful. Every little tug sent a jolt through him. His heart rate was just getting back to normal from the fight, and CB got it going again, thumping away hard enough that Jonesy wondered about his general state of health.
“Yes.” God. His prick had no illusions that he was hurt bad, no matter how maddening it was to get bopped on the nose. It rose happily, pushing toward Cody, begging for those promised touches. Jonesy wiggled down against the bed a little, digging his heels into the mattress.
“And I ain’t gonna let no one whale on my man.” Cody hummed, rough stubble nudging his cock, sending shocks up and down Jonesy’s spine. “You want my mouth first, honey?”
“Yes. Please?” He always wanted that mouth. He wasn’t going to deny it. When Cody had sucked him off the first time, it had been a revelation. Jonesy had been hooked for life.
“Mmm. Good answer.” That hot little tongue flicked at him, slipped over the slit and made his toes curl. Soft, soft lips nibbled down the underside of his prick, then back up, only to close around the head.
“Definitely.” He had no worries that CB could get him off by the time the food came. The man was a master. There would be ice cream and fucking before sleep, for sure.
One callused hand cupped his balls, rolled them, stroked them, Cody humming around his prick. Hungry man.
The sensation has his eyes rolling, had him mouth breathing just to get enough air in. He reached for the sheets on the bed, needing something solid to hang on to. It almost felt like bed spins there for a moment.
That hungry mouth slid all the way down to the base, then pulled off so slow, like the man was working a fat Bomb Pop. The little sounds Cody made were wet, a little sloppy, and so male that Jonesy moaned at how hot it was.
Jonesy grabbed CB’s short hair, his fingers curling against that hot scalp. God. His hips lifted, pushing his cock into Cody’s mouth. That amazing goddamned mouth.
Cody’s hand at his sac kept pushing, damn near enough to make him lose his fucking mind. His balls were so sensitive he could hardly stand it, drawing up against the base of his cock.
His breath kept catching, his chest heaving, and Jonesy started babbling, needing Cody to get a rhythm going. He needed it bad. He needed to rock and roll and have someone catch him when he fell.
His cowboy knew how to ride, though, and before he knew it, Jonesy was sucking air, legs thrashing some. His belly felt like a board, his thighs like rocks, and his balls might just explode. Just a little more. Just a tiny bit…
One finger pressed against his hole, slipped in and touched him, pressing against all the nerve endings that sat right there, waiting for stimulation.
“Fuck!” Jonesy lost it, coming hard, his body jerking up so hard that CB had to hold him down to keep him from throwing them off the bed with his jerky dance.
He felt every fucking swallow, every hum and groan, all around the tip of his cock. Cody cleaned him up like the man couldn’t possibly stand to waste a drop, like he was the most precious thing on earth.
“Oh, God, baby.” He’d finally broken down and started calling CB baby in their more private moments. He couldn’t help it. It was what cowboys did. They fucked hard and fought hard and called the people they loved ‘baby’.
“Taste good, Callum.” CB nuzzled him, cheek on his thigh, lips all pink and swollen, the picture of debauchery. “How’s the nose?”
“Better.” Somehow it was. All that ice and air and the feel of Cody sucking him into near oblivion. “You doctor me up good.”
“I tell you what, I’m a healer, honey, bone-deep.”