Jock Auction (18 page)

I wanted more, wanted it harder, and Craig got the message eventually, lifting

himself on his arms and hunching his groin into me, pounding deep with every animal 122
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rut. A frown—one of concentration, or to delay things, or both maybe—creased his

forehead, half-visible behind the curtain of sweat-damp hair. With one hand I reached up and brushed it aside while the other tried to squeeze between our bodies and grip my erection.

“Oh God, oh God,” I heard him muttering, felt the loss of control as his hips

flailed, knew he was tipping past the point of no return. I gripped his head, forced him to look straight at me. Wanted him to remember this first time between us, to know that I was right here, in the moment, with him.

Clenched teeth, sharp groan. He pushed deep, held there, and I could feel him

twitching as he filled me. Then his head was rocking back, mouth agape, veins in his neck standing proud. Strokes slowing.

“Fuck, I’m sorry…” he started, but I was already shaking my head. “But it was so

fast, and you haven’t…”

I grinned, palming my dick lazily. Just the feel of him still inside me was keeping me near-painfully rigid.

“Maybe you could…?” I started, and licked my lips pointedly.

Craig grinned. “Oh, hell yes,” and, letting himself slide from my wetness, ducked

down to wrap his tongue around the head of my dick.

“Fuck, Craig,” I gasped as he dipped his head until he was deep throating me.

“You make me feel amazing.”

He ran his mouth up and down me a few times, sometimes focusing on the head,

other times letting his tongue play around where I bulge in the middle, rubbing his lips against the swollen flesh. I almost wailed when he pulled off, then watched wide-eyed as he lapped his way down, across my balls, and then, making me gasp, over my hole.

“Dude, what the fuck are you…” I started, but then lost the ability to speak as he jammed his tongue into me. I couldn’t stop myself. I took my cock in my fist, fingers a blur around the head, as Craig used his hands to pull me open and dig in deep. I

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shivered as I thought of where his mouth was and what had happened there only

moments before.

My butt was vibrating with the overwhelming sensations, Craig seemingly losing

control and burying his face between my cheeks. His mouth was greedy against my

abused entrance. I could feel my own orgasm building, a surge of sexual energy jolting from my ass to the tip of my cock. I tightened my grip, focused the rubbing on the now almost painfully swollen tip.

He drove me over the edge when he slid two fingers in me and then forced his

tongue between them, the combined feeling of being stretched and licked too much for my naive body to handle. The head of my cock was too sensitive to touch; there was nothing I could do but grip around the base and watch as blast after blast spattered across my chest. A gob of it lashed across my chin, the rest settling down to slow dribbles that coated my stomach and abdomen.

I fell back, breathing heavily, legs slumping over to the side. Craig rolled over, slowly wiping his forearm across his mouth. I idly wondered how it had tasted,

realized that all I need do would be to ask, and he’d share with me. I could only try to catch my breath, though; even talking was too much for me to handle.

Eventually, he propped himself up on his elbows, looked at me. For all the wiping, his chin still glistened with lube and our juices.

“Still want to be my boyfriend?”

I chuckled, the sound gradually becoming deep laughter. “When did you become

such a little freak, eh?” I asked him. “Fuck, I think my eyes almost rolled out of my head when you started…y’know.”

He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low. I suddenly

knew he was being serious.

“Yeah…so do you still want to? I mean, be my boyfriend and all.”

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I looked over at him. Craig was trying to make it look all like one big joke, but I could see the fear plain on his face, the worry that after I’d climaxed I’d suddenly lose all interest in a relationship with another guy.

“Come here,” I told him, holding out my arm. He hesitated, then scooted over and

wrapped the length of his long, slim body against my side. I pulled him in tight to me.

“Look, of course I do. Want to be your boyfriend, I mean. Stop asking dumb questions.”

He smiled then. Ran his hand gently down my chest, smearing the mess there in

idle circles.

“I do have one worry, though,” I told him. Craig’s head snapped to the side,

concern in his eyes. “You may need to carry me to the shower—my boyfriend just

fucked my legs to jelly.”

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Chapter Seven

Sometimes the world is different but nobody else realizes it. Like, maybe it’s your birthday but nobody else knows, and you’re left walking around the whole day with

this difference locked away inside your chest somehow, feeling like you’re physically throbbing with the unspoken magnitude of it. It doesn’t have to be good news, of

course. I can remember going into class after my grandmother had died, when nobody at school knew, and the same feeling of the world having turned a degree askance but only I had seen it.

And now I had a boyfriend and was feeling that same loaded sensation as I

walked down the halls to my locker. I’d left Craig’s house late the previous night, our spooning gaining a degree of intimacy I’d never felt with anybody else, until we’d tumbled into the shower—my legs sufficiently recovered at that point so that Craig didn’t have to attempt to carry me, fortunately—and playfully washed each other

down. The newness of it all was just as mesmerizing as the feel of him stiffening again as I took him first in my soapy hand and then, afterward, his fingers laced through my wet hair, in my mouth.

Daylight is cold, though, and I half expected some sort of regret, or reticence, or whatever to sink down around me when I woke—bleary-eyed from not enough sleep—

the morning after. Yet the only lingering unease was the knowledge that somehow

things with Jeff were going to come to a head after all I’d said yesterday, and that it was probably going to happen today.

Craig was home first period waiting for some guy to fix their boiler while his mom pulled yet another shift, and while the feel of his hand in mine might have been a welcome source of comfort, at the same time I was sort of glad he was out of the way so 126
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I could focus on smoothing over things with the guys on the team. Jeff was generally unpredictable, but the one thing I knew for sure was that he tended to react with

violence first and practical thinking second, if at all.

The saving grace was that, for the most part, the guys on the team thought Jeff

was a dick, and even if they hung out with him, it was nowhere near a certainty that they felt the same way as he did. That plus the fact that I knew I had at least one ally in Louis gave me just enough confidence to think I should bring things up sooner rather than later.

Inevitably, life concluded that, no matter what I decided, it would do things its

own way. As I turned the corner to my locker, I could see Jeff and a few guys from the team stood around waiting, I presumed, for me. The fresh dent in the scuffed red metal door suggested Jeff had already been rehearsing what he wanted to say.

Deep breath. Maybe a second one, just for luck.

I fixed a casual smile to my face and strolled up to them, trying to look each of the guys in the eye as I did. Most of them echoed my own fixed grin; one or two looked sheepish, or frowned, or just generally uncomfortable. Jeff watched me approach with his arms folded, face creased in a frown.

“Morning, guys,” I said, trying not to clench the muscles across my shoulders as I turned my back to them and opened my locker. The buckled door made it a little

trickier than usual.

A couple of mumbled “hey” and “sup” in response, but little else. I obviously

wasn’t the only one waiting to see what Jeff had in mind.

“So…about yesterday,” I said, finally, when the pause dragged on through

pregnancy and then birth and finally into preschool years.

Jeff interrupted me. “What the fuck, dude?”

I could see his fists clenching and unclenching, knuckles shoved up against his

bulging biceps. He was strong, there was no doubting that—he wouldn’t have been on JOCK AUCTION | 127

the team if he wasn’t—but so strong that I couldn’t take him? That would depend on how many other people joined in and who they were joining in with, I figured.

“I just…” No, I guess he wasn’t going to let me speak.

“What the fuck is going on with you and that punk-ass little emo faggot, dude?

Seriously, Kyle, me and the guys are starting to think you’ve gone queer on us, hangin’

out with that fuckin’ geek all the time.”

I shook my head, slowly, risked glancing around to see what expressions the rest

of them had. Studiously blank in most cases, curious, but not venomous like Jeff.

“I guess it’s complicated, is all,” I tried to explain. Jeff shook his head, not willing to accept that.

“No, it fucking isn’t, Kyle. You’re either on the team with the guys or you’re a

little faggot with that fag and the rest of the fuckin’ fag geek math-club punks. So which is it?”

His face had gone a shade of red I remembered from yesterday and from when

Coach put him on the spot after a particularly underhanded tackle. Pressure-cooker red we called it, behind his back at least.

“Life isn’t that simple, Jeff.” He looked at me as if I was telling him it was

Christmas in June. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Oh, okay, Mister Fucking Complicated, so how exactly does it work, then? You

turn into a pansy on the field and then check us out in the showers and then run home to your boyfriend to tell him how many dicks you saw that day?”

Normally, I might have had to suppress a chuckle at that one: yeah, Craig might

actually be interested in just what I saw in the showers, as long as I told him while I was wearing my uniform. But now wasn’t the time.

“No, Jeff,” I said, trying to put some weary patience into my tone. “I do exactly

what I’ve always been doing on the field—helping us win—and then do exactly what

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I’ve always done in the showers, which is ignore you as much as humanly possible, and then maybe I go see my boyfriend and talk about things a whole lot more interesting.”

“Your boyfriend.” Jeff’s voice had a choking tone to it as he echoed what I’d said.

I guess I’d just come out. Part of me wanted to take a step back, but I resisted the urge. This wasn’t something I could run away from; not only would it catch up with me eventually, but what I really didn’t want was for Jeff to take out his anger on someone who might not be able to take it. Like Craig.

So I stood my ground and watched as his face transitioned through surprise and

horror mixed with disgust and then finally settled on a simmering rage.

“Your fucking boyfriend.”

I nodded, shrugged a little. “Yeah, my fucking boyfriend, Jeff.”

He shook his head, and I risked another flicker of my eyes around the rest of the

group. Some surprise there, yes, but nothing so vitriolic as Jeff’s reaction, unless they were hiding it well.

“We oughta pound your fuckin’ face, Kyle,” Jeff told me. “All this time we’ve had

a fag on the team, perving on us. We should fuckin’ pound your face.”

“For a start, you don’t speak for the whole team.” I really hoped that was true.

“And I haven’t been some sneaky gay guy lying about who he is. This stuff just

happened. Like, in the past couple weeks. And I was as surprised about it as you are.

And no, just because I’m with a guy right now doesn’t mean I’ve been looking at your ugly ass after practice, or anybody on the team, for that matter.”

Okay, that wasn’t exactly the truth, but I didn’t think now was the best time to

explain the nuances of what had gone on with Louis. Someone who, I found myself

increasingly wishing, was here with me now.

“And we’re just supposed to believe that, right, Kyle?” Jeff sneered. “We just take your word for it that you’re not a sneaky little faggot?”

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This was all becoming too much, and I was getting sick and tired of arguing with

someone who I could obviously never hope to convince. I shrugged again and rolled

my eyes.

“Believe what you like.”

He spluttered; his imagination around the sort of devious things gay guys could

get up to was obviously more advanced than mine. And then he was up close to me, his face practically inches away from mine with his forearm across my throat, and it was almost the expression of absolute, uncontrolled hatred that took the breath from my lungs as much as it was the crushing force on my windpipe as he jammed me against

the lockers. I kicked back at the ringing metal as I tried to pry his arm away or push him back—the heel of my hand against his sweat-slick forehead—to give me a little space to find my feet and not be so damn reactive. All the time, though, there was the rush of black fringing around my vision, and I knew that this was some deeply serious shit I was in right now, and…

“Jesus, dude, get the fuck off him!”

Sudden, painful, gasping breaths as my lungs sucked in what they usually took

for granted. Coughing, half-choking, as I slid partway down the lockers, my knees

struggling to take my weight again.

I glanced up to see Jeff being held back by two guys from the team as another

pushed his way between us shouting in Jeff’s face about him being crazy and how this was some fucked-up bullshit he was starting and how they’d always known he was a