Jock Auction (13 page)

“I know who I’m blaming for that.”

Ty chuckled at that one, nudging his brother’s shoulder playfully as he looked

down at my prone form. “Not half bad for a first timer,” he teased, putting his arm round Louis’s shoulders and pulling him into a side hug. I couldn’t help but notice how attractive both of them were, or, indeed, how Ty’s jeans were bulging.

I pointedly looked down and then over at Louis, nodding at his older brother’s

cock as it pressed heavily against the denim. Louis looked down and then rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, dude, can’t you control that thing?”

Ty shrugged, grinning.

Meanwhile I sat up, back beginning to ache from the weird angle and the cold of

the countertop. Louis smirked at me. Ty just grinned some more.

Something in the back of my mind was asking whether it would be hot to try

something with Ty then. To maybe drop to my knees and put my face where his hand

was, to eventually add his contribution to my well-stretched ass. But I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. Ty seemed like a nice enough guy, but he was still practically a stranger, and it seemed somehow too much to go from being a virgin to taking two guys in quick succession, even if my cock was plumping a little again at the thought of it.

“I should…shower and stuff,” I told them, bringing Ty out of his reverie. He

smiled at me, and I was glad he wasn’t going to push himself on me—at least, it didn’t JOCK AUCTION | 85

seem that way. He was just happy that he’d finally tipped his brother over the edge into realizing something important about himself.

“Yeah, dude, we should probably let you take care of business,” Ty drawled.

Louis looked a little embarrassed at that, and the slightly bashful look was enough to make me put my hand out against his cheek, the strength of the feelings of affection taking me by surprise.

“I’ll see you soon, though, right?” I asked him, and he nodded and then bent

down to pull up his jeans and his boxers. I hopped down off the counter, thankful of Ty’s steadying arm as my cramping legs made me stumble. His hand slipped down my

back to rest on my ass cheek, and I looked up at him pointedly.

“Hey, some of us don’t get to see you in class,” he pointed out, shrugging. I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling all the same.

When they’d gone and I’d locked the door, I knew it was time for a shower. My

body stank of sweat, and I could feel Louis’s cream slicking in the crack of my ass. I made a mental note to clean up the kitchen too, since I didn’t really want to explain to my parents why it smelled of guy sex.

I was waiting for the water to warm up when my phone bleeped. As I thumbed

through Craig’s text message, I suddenly started to think about him again, not us

fucking, like I’d pictured while Louis worked me over, but what exactly he’d think when—if—he found out what I’d been doing. Did he assume we were exclusive, or that he was at the very least the guy I exclusively fucked when I was in the mood for

fucking guys? Had I inadvertently crossed some line without even thinking of the

consequences?

When can I C U?
he’d asked.

I thumbed out a noncommittal
Soon
in reply and quickly got back
Hope so, I need 2

get fucked ;).

Should I tell him I knew how that felt now? Or would he get pissed that he’d not

been the one to take my ass the first time?

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All of a sudden things had gotten very complicated.

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Chapter Five

I got two more texts from Craig that night, the first one playful, then, when I

didn’t respond, one that seemed a bit colder, though maybe that was me reading into things.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in him. In fact, even though I’d just been well fucked—literally—I was itching to go round there and see him. Maybe show him some

of what Louis had shown me. And I knew, from his dirty messages, that he’d like it.

I could picture him answering the door and then, before he’d even had a chance to

close it properly, me pushing him up against the wall and kissing him. Force my hand up his shirt to reach his nipples, pinch and twist them until he was yelping and

whimpering. Hold his hand against the bulge in my jeans, show him just how hard I

was, and then turn him around, arms and legs spread, so that I could peel down his skinnies and jam myself inside him.

Something between us had evolved into this weird power play. I wasn’t the most

aggressive guy around, for all that I was on the team, but when I was fucking Craig, there was something about his compliant nature that made me want to control him.

He said it was the straight boy in me trying to punish him for turning me gay, or

at least making me do gay stuff, joking about it I was guessing. All I knew was that, when he was on his knees with his cock bobbing between his thighs, my precum

glossing up his swollen, puffy lips, and his eyes all glassy, nothing was as loud as the voice in my head telling me to fuck his throat as hard as I could.

So I knew I could go by and we could have sex and that it would probably feel

great. But there was something stopping me from responding, and I could only assume that the “something” was what I’d just done with Louis.

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Louis knew about Craig. Had seen some of the messages he’d sent me. I’d told

him some of the stuff we’d done. And though I wasn’t exactly friends with the guy—he was really too quiet, too reserved to call us that—we’d suddenly gotten a whole lot closer than I’d ever assumed we might.

He’d taken my virginity. And the weird thing was, I wasn’t freaking out because a

guy had reamed my ass but because I suddenly realized the other guy in my life might be seriously pissed off if he found out about it.

Saturday morning I put him off with a message saying I had to do some chores for

my dad. I even hung out with the old man some, helping sort through the interminable boxes in the garage as he puzzled at my uncommunicative grunts, my thoughts

elsewhere. Saturday afternoon it was grocery shopping with my mom. Saturday

evening, it was a family meal that I couldn’t get out of, but I could tell by the subtext of Craig’s replies—that unspoken tone I already knew to read into his texts—that he was getting pissed off and worried.

That was the kicker, I think, that I knew he’d worry. That he’d assume he was

doing something wrong, or that I’d suddenly decided that all this boy-sex stuff was not for me and that I’d rejected him without doing the decent thing and outright telling him that we weren’t going to be hooking up anymore.

Because, when I stopped and thought about it—which, to be honest, I didn’t much

enjoy doing since it made me feel even more guilty—I knew full well that, for Craig, this wasn’t just hooking up. This was him really liking me and wanting to be with me, and if we were fucking, then it was because so far that was all I was comfortable

enough to do with him.

By Sunday the guilt was like a dull headache wrapped across the back of my skull.

I knew I couldn’t keep putting him off, but at the same time I wasn’t sure what I could tell him. Part of me wanted to come clean, but another part—the part that kept

reminding me that, no matter what Craig might want, we weren’t boyfriends or

anything like that—was telling me to play it cool, coast it out. Treat Louis and what had JOCK AUCTION | 89

happened with him and his brother as a fucked-up learning experience, one that didn’t need to be talked about.

Never mind the fact that I’d spent an hour on Saturday night jerking off to the

thought of how he’d felt inside me, and ended up climaxing, hard, with two fingers wedged in me and my body taut like a wishbone.

Feel like UR ignoring me.

I must’ve sat on my bed staring at his message for five minutes. Knowing that, as

each second ticked by, Craig was likely staring at his own phone and wondering what was taking me so long; why I wasn’t texting him right back?

Family stuff
, I thumbed out, hating myself for the deceit with each press.
Sorry.

It was less than a minute before my phone buzzed again.

Can I C U today? Plz???

There are some things you can’t say no to, I realized. Even when you don’t know

what you’re going to actually say.

I can come by tonight.

And then it was done, and I’d committed. I spent the rest of the afternoon pacing

around like a caged animal until my parents told me to go for a run or do pushups or something, anything, because I was driving them crazy. I knew how they felt. In my head I was going just as mad, twice as quickly. I paced around all the possible ways I could rescue the situation, somehow get to a place where I didn’t have to tell Craig anything, perhaps, or where he’d laugh it off, or find it hot, or…something. Anything.

Could I talk to my parents about it? Try to explain what their only child was going through, the screwed-up situation he’d found himself in after eighteen years of being pretty much the perfect offspring? I’d never given them any cause to worry about me, never fallen off the sensible path that, even if they’d not described was mine in so many words, we all knew had been set out for me.

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I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted, only that it probably involved getting out of this screwed-up, no-hope little town that most people wouldn’t even recognize as

existing, never mind be able to find on a map. Landlocked and small-minded and with more churches than Starbucks. Trapped here, the most excitement—and that was being generous—was an hour’s drive away in Grand Rapids, and the only chance of freedom

being some prewritten path my parents had sketched out with the very best of

intentions, having never actually asked me first.

I only left the house when the weight of unspoken expectations began to equal my

dread of facing Craig.

When I rang his doorbell, I could hear him clatter—even barefoot, as I knew he

would be—down the stairs, racing to get to the door. I felt the tightness in my chest surge back, a pair of cold-fingered hands clench around my lungs as he stood, clinging to the edge of the frame, staring at me.

I’d forgotten how quickly I’d come to recognize his moods, his thoughts, just from the look on his face.

“You coming in?”

I nodded, walked through, and started straight up the stairs to his room. I heard

the door close, his feet padding—more relaxed now—on the treads behind me. The rest of the house seemed cold and still, as though we were the only warmth inside.

He shut his bedroom door gingerly, as if afraid the sound of it slamming might

frighten me off. I could only guess how confused he might be, what his anxieties about my cold feet were, how antsy and nervous he must be feeling. When I turned to look back at him, I could see all that concern locked in the tightness across his cheekbones that pulled at the muscles around his eyes and in the slight forced tension of his ever-so-casual smile.

“Hey,” I said, quietly, made myself smile too. Suddenly I was very aware of the

movements of my face, as though I had to make a conscious effort to assume and stick to each expression. Think through the things that normally came naturally.

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“Hey, Kyle,” he replied. Leaning back against the door, its handle clutched in both hands at the small of his back, made his frame look narrower, slighter, left him looking more vulnerable.

“So, look, I’ve just been…” I started, but he shook his head. I looked down where

my feet were scuffing lines in the carpet.

“I get it. You don’t have to explain anything, okay? You just got…I dunno.

Freaked-out, or something.”

I found myself shaking my head, made myself stop. It would be so easy to accept

that excuse, the easy out. Let him think that I’d just had a pang of sexual conservatism; go along with it until, maybe, one day I ended up thinking that’s what it really had been too.

Craig crossed over to me as I was thinking it through; I felt his hand touch the side of my face gently, fingers easing behind me to cradle the back of my head, lace their way through my hair.

“Kiss me,” he told me, and I reached up without looking, took hold of his wrist,

and pulled him down until he was straddling my lap. I could smell him, the warm

boyishness I’d grown so used to, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes and, with one arm wrapped around his torso, bring him near to me until our lips could meet.

He was cautious, at first—perhaps he thought I’d still yank away—and then more

confident, more aggressive. His hands were in my hair, tilting my head so that our noses simply rubbed together rather than crushing against the other, his lips parting and his tongue eagerly seeking my own. Craig shuffled forward on his knees, thighs hot against me, until his crotch was pressed firmly on mine, the only gap between us the mild arch as he brought his face down to my level.

“Is your mom home?” My voice was husky, words clumsy. He shook his head.

“She’s working. Always working. It’s like we’re strangers most of the time.” He

sighed. “I can’t be mad at her. She’s on her own and someone has to pay the bills, I guess.” Craig’s fingertips pushed against my scalp as he held us close.

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It was familiar, and it felt so good, and I found myself—even with all the

anxiety—reacting, responding to him. Letting my fingertips graze the hem of his shirt, the slice of warm skin in the gap between it and his jeans, and then ran my palms up the back of his ribs. Tracing their outlines against taut flesh, feeling rather than hearing the soft moan from deep in his chest.

He pushed at me, insistent, and I fell back on the bed, Craig toppling with me so