excitement you don’t necessarily want a repeat of.”
“I’m sorry. It’s going to happen. Part and parcel of the whole diabetes thing.”
He nodded. “Maybe you should tell me what all to expect so I know what to do. It wouldn’t have freaked me as much if I’d known for sure I was doing the right thing to help you.”
Chance looked at him, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. If my sugars drop? I get sweaty, shaky. Real aggressive. There’s juice in the fridge, in the bedside table. If it’s too bad to drink? There’s a glucagon injector in the bathroom in a red case.”
“A glucagon injector? That’s like a needle all set up and ready to go? Like what folks allergic to bee stings have?” Damn, it was complicated. And serious enough Chance could die if he screwed up. He was only just realizing that.
Chance nodded. “Yep. Just screw the needle on and stick it in me.”
“Okay.” And it was. He could handle that. Every day he’d seen action other men had depended on him to do the right thing and keep them alive. Just like he’d depended on them. “Is there anything else?”
“Remember that if I get nasty all of a sudden, for no good reason? My sugars are dropping and a peanut butter sandwich will get me back to making sense.”
“We’re out,” he noted. “But I’ll make sure to buy the extra large pot.”
“You wigged out?” Chance’s hands pet his belly, stroking.
He considered the question carefully. Truth was not much actually wigged him out. He’d spent his life working in an environment where you learned to expect the unexpected and get through it with your life, the life of your buddies and a victory all under your belt.
“No. Just realizing how serious diabetes is. You make it seem... well like allergies or something easy.”
“I... I don’t think about it, it pisses me off. I mean, the three things I wanted to do when I grew up? I can’t do any of them, so I don’t think on it.”
“Three?” he knew about the army thing.
“Yeah. I tried to go to flight school and... truck driver school, believe it or not. Can’t do either.”
“Damn. That sucks.” He pet Chance, not sure what to say. He didn’t figure anything he did say could make a difference.
“It’s okay. I’m happy. I can’t imagine not having my critters now, not being able to go for a long ride, go fishing.”
“I guess things happen for a reason. At least that’s what I tell myself when nothing seems to make sense.”
“Yep. And I take good care of myself. Gotta keep the old pecker hard, you know.”
He blinked, that being totally unexpected. “Sex is good for diabetics?”
“Diabetes is the top cause of impotence.”
“Oh.” Jesus, wasn’t that a nice sentence to be hanging over a man’s head. “I guess you’re well motivated.”
“Yeah. Makes me sort of a shitty long-term risk, but short-term? I’m good to go.” Those blue eyes flashed up at him, then down again.
He pet Chance. “You’re not the only one who’s not the best long-term risk. Not by far.
“I’m thinking I’d risk some for you, Mr. Sam.”
Warmth flooded in his belly. Chance had a way of making him feel good with just a few words. “I think I know that feeling.”
Chance’s hand landed on his belly. “That’s good to hear, sir. Real good.”
“Yeah? Good.” He slid his hand on Chance’s. It felt good, this man touching him. And he was getting used to it.
Warm, soft lips found his nipple, pulling nice and steady, tongue sliding over the tip. Oh, time for talking was done. He lay back on the pillows, hand sliding through Chance’s hair, holding that warm mouth against his nipple.
Chance groaned, hand sliding down to find his cock. He pushed his hips up into that hand, his cock hard and needing just like that.
“Mmm... all for me.” Chance grinned, leaned down to lick, to nuzzle.
“Hell, yes.” He whimpered and bucked, tongue sliding out to wet his lips.
A soft puff of air ghosted over the tip of his
“I’m sorry. It’s going to happen. Part and parcel of the whole diabetes thing.”
He nodded. “Maybe you should tell me what all to expect so I know what to do. It wouldn’t have freaked me as much if I’d known for sure I was doing the right thing to help you.”
Chance looked at him, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. If my sugars drop? I get sweaty, shaky. Real aggressive. There’s juice in the fridge, in the bedside table. If it’s too bad to drink? There’s a glucagon injector in the bathroom in a red case.”
“A glucagon injector? That’s like a needle all set up and ready to go? Like what folks allergic to bee stings have?” Damn, it was complicated. And serious enough Chance could die if he screwed up. He was only just realizing that.
Chance nodded. “Yep. Just screw the needle on and stick it in me.”
“Okay.” And it was. He could handle that. Every day he’d seen action other men had depended on him to do the right thing and keep them alive. Just like he’d depended on them. “Is there anything else?”
“Remember that if I get nasty all of a sudden, for no good reason? My sugars are dropping and a peanut butter sandwich will get me back to making sense.”
“We’re out,” he noted. “But I’ll make sure to buy the extra large pot.”
“You wigged out?” Chance’s hands pet his belly, stroking.
He considered the question carefully. Truth was not much actually wigged him out. He’d spent his life working in an environment where you learned to expect the unexpected and get through it with your life, the life of your buddies and a victory all under your belt.
“No. Just realizing how serious diabetes is. You make it seem... well like allergies or something easy.”
“I... I don’t think about it, it pisses me off. I mean, the three things I wanted to do when I grew up? I can’t do any of them, so I don’t think on it.”
“Three?” he knew about the army thing.
“Yeah. I tried to go to flight school and... truck driver school, believe it or not. Can’t do either.”
“Damn. That sucks.” He pet Chance, not sure what to say. He didn’t figure anything he did say could make a difference.
“It’s okay. I’m happy. I can’t imagine not having my critters now, not being able to go for a long ride, go fishing.”
“I guess things happen for a reason. At least that’s what I tell myself when nothing seems to make sense.”
“Yep. And I take good care of myself. Gotta keep the old pecker hard, you know.”
He blinked, that being totally unexpected. “Sex is good for diabetics?”
“Diabetes is the top cause of impotence.”
“Oh.” Jesus, wasn’t that a nice sentence to be hanging over a man’s head. “I guess you’re well motivated.”
“Yeah. Makes me sort of a shitty long-term risk, but short-term? I’m good to go.” Those blue eyes flashed up at him, then down again.
He pet Chance. “You’re not the only one who’s not the best long-term risk. Not by far.
“I’m thinking I’d risk some for you, Mr. Sam.”
Warmth flooded in his belly. Chance had a way of making him feel good with just a few words. “I think I know that feeling.”
Chance’s hand landed on his belly. “That’s good to hear, sir. Real good.”
“Yeah? Good.” He slid his hand on Chance’s. It felt good, this man touching him. And he was getting used to it.
Warm, soft lips found his nipple, pulling nice and steady, tongue sliding over the tip. Oh, time for talking was done. He lay back on the pillows, hand sliding through Chance’s hair, holding that warm mouth against his nipple.
Chance groaned, hand sliding down to find his cock. He pushed his hips up into that hand, his cock hard and needing just like that.
“Mmm... all for me.” Chance grinned, leaned down to lick, to nuzzle.
“Hell, yes.” He whimpered and bucked, tongue sliding out to wet his lips.
A soft puff of air ghosted over the tip of his
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