Jock Auction (16 page)

If I’d thought Craig was screwing me roughly before, I was wrong. His slim hips

railed against me, thighs slapping hotly against my cheeks, erection brutally stretching my battered hole. I only had a moment to reel at the sensation of it, though, before Louis jammed himself deep into my throat, the bristle of his close-cropped pubes

scraping my lips.

He held himself there, buried, as Craig punished me at the other end until I began to feel the panic of breathlessness rise in me. I gazed up at him, fear filling my eyes, but he just stared back down with a tired, weary expression.

My vision started to dim at the edges, throat gulping and spasming around

Louis’s cock. I tried to groan as best I could with his inches in me. Craig’s hands were pulling at my cheeks, spreading them painfully wide so he could hammer home.

“Yeah, fuck, keep doing that,” I heard Craig mutter. “Man, his ass goes fuckin’

wild on me when you do that.” His grunting got deeper, more labored.

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“We’re gonna drown this fuck at both ends,” Louis told him, hand locked at the

back of my head holding me in place. My lips were tingling, the roaring in my ears almost enough to blot out their voices.

Somehow Craig found an extra quarter inch to ram home, Louis a fraction more to

squeeze into my throat. I heard Craig’s angry climax, felt Louis flood my gullet, the last things I could understand as I blacked out.

* * * *

Eventually they were driven down to a sweat-damp tangle half-off the end of the

bed. I stretched my legs, flexed my toes as I tried to force the anxiety out of me. I could feel the wet cooling in my boxers. It’d been years since I’d had a wet dream, but it had all felt so real, so authentic.

Finally I stood up, watching as the spot slowly spread across the cotton. Gave

silent thanks to the fact that I still wore something to bed, even if they were just old boxer briefs that hardly fit me properly anymore. Gingerly I pulled out the elastic waistband so that I could push them down my thighs, trying to avoid smearing my legs in the process, until they puddled heavily around my feet.

I used some of the remaining dry fabric to rub the streaks off my cock, milking out the final few drips. It had been a big load, I realized; my balls ached with the dimly-remembered confusion of a climax with no stroking and no fucking. Part of me

wondered if, had they been Craig’s briefs and had he been the one to fill them, would I bury my face in them like I’d hungrily swallowed him yesterday?

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I checked my phone. It was four a.m., or

thereabouts. No messages. Nothing from Craig.

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I didn’t know what I’d expected.

No, not quite true. I hadn’t expected anything, but I’d hoped—God, how I’d

hoped—that he’d see my last message before I’d turned off the light.
Miss you
, was all I could think of to say; everything else either seemed too over the top or too soppy or just something that I thought would make Craig roll his eyes, not forgive me. And I so

wanted him to forgive me.

Louis’s advice kept going round in my head, that I needed to somehow explain to

Craig that what I’d done—what I’d stupidly done—had been the final push that

showed me how much he meant to me. But how do you explain to someone who loves

you that you might just love them too, even if it took giving up your virginity to somebody else to make you realize it?

That was the scary word. The one I’d watched my friends roll out to girls to get

them into bed, hardly caring about the emotional load it carried with it. I’d never been able to say it, never even contemplated that I might be feeling it. Love was something dangerous that possessed you as much as you felt it, and I couldn’t shake the shiver of fear that it invoked in me.

But now…well. I could love Craig, just maybe in a special, new way I’d never

considered before. Not just the boiling over of my sex drive or the comfort you get from being intimate with someone.

I wanted to explain that to him. It terrified the hell out of me, but I wanted to tell him how he’d made me feel. How I felt like I’d woken up inside in some way, and how that understanding had been slow dawning and had led me into some mistakes in the

process.

I laid back, phone resting on my chest, suddenly tired again. All this stuff was

mentally exhausting. Not to mention the havoc it played with your sleep.

When I woke up again, dug out my phone from where it had slipped off and

disappeared under my side—leaving me with a rectangular outline embossed into my

skin—it was 8:45. Sixteen minutes and I’d be officially late for class; I wasn’t sure why 110
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my parents didn’t wake me up, but I couldn’t spare it much thought as I was trying to fit a shower, getting dressed, breakfast, and a twenty-minute ride into school into a rapidly narrowing countdown.

I was still buttoning up my jeans as I got into the car, still trying to do something halfway reasonable with my hair when I speed walked from the parking lot to math

class. I’d grabbed my bag but hadn’t had time to check what was actually in it, and was hoping I had at least half of what I’d need for the day ahead.

Knowing my luck, I’d have my sweaty old football gear and a broken pencil.

The morning passed in a daze, punctuated by asking whoever was unfortunate

enough to sit next to me if I could borrow their pen, their textbook, or whatever else I’d forgotten. By lunchtime I had a headache and zero appetite, despite breakfast having only been half a mug of coffee that I tried to bring with me in the car and subsequently managed to spill all across the passenger seat.

I let the flow of the crowd take me toward the cafeteria, but split off to the quad at the last moment. It was quiet, overcast weather for a start, and the first of the lunch line still had yet to filter out. I found a bench under one of the trees in the corner and pulled out my phone.

Nothing. Well, a message from my mom telling me she and my dad had needed to

leave early, before six, and that she’d hoped I’d set an alarm. I couldn’t exactly reply angrily since I’d then have to admit that I was dumb and that I hadn’t. But nothing from Craig.

I hadn’t been watching the doors, so the first I saw of Jeff and the others from the team was when his bag landed heavily on the bench next to me, making me jump.

“Hey, fuckwad,” Jeff crowed. His voice put my teeth on edge. I nodded to the

other guys. “Not eating today, dude? Watching your girly figure?”

Jeff guffawed, loudly, like he’d just made the best joke in the world. I saw some of the others roll their eyes, but nobody pointed out he was a dumbass. It just wasn’t worth it.

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“Not hungry, dude,” I told him, hoping he’d get the message from my terse reply

and leave me alone. No such luck. Anything more subtle than an anvil to the forehead was lost on him.

“So, Kyle,” Jeff said, plopping himself down next to me and wrapping his beefy

arm around my shoulder. He grinned around at the small crowd of jocks standing near us. “That fag blown you yet? Is it true what they say that a faggot sucks better than a chick?”

He mimed sucking cock crudely, cracked up laughing again. Say what you want

about Jeff, but at least he was self-sufficient when it came to entertaining himself. The fact that nobody else seemed to get the joke didn’t apparently matter, or indeed even register.

“Fuck off, Jeff,” I told him. The pain behind my eyes was trimming my patience

down to pretty much zero today.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Kyle? He insistin’ on fucking you?”

I was about to reply—most likely something undoubtedly as witty and profound

as “seriously, fuck off, Jeff,”—when I saw Craig slip through the doorway into the quad. He had the usual cautious, slightly haunted look on his face I’d seen him wearing at school before, like he was just waiting for some sort of trouble to land on him. Then again, with guys like Jeff around, I could understand that.

I stood up, shrugging Jeff’s arm from off my shoulder, grabbed my bag, and took a

step toward the door.

“What the fuck, Kyle?” Jeff griped. He stood up after me, looked around. “Can’t

you take a fucking joke, dude?”

I slung my bag over my shoulder, tried to catch a glimpse of Craig in the crowd

again. There, by the vending machines.

“Dude. Dude!” I could hear Jeff’s voice getting louder behind me. I turned and

walked backward for a few paces as I looked at him.

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“What?”

He threw up his arms in frustration. “Dude, what the fuck?”

I shrugged, turned again. I guess he looked past me, then saw who I was headed

for. Craig was feeding a handful of coins into the soda machine, occasionally casting quick glances over each shoulder as if to check who might be creeping up on him.

Probably more habit than anything else, as he apparently hadn’t spotted me walking over.

“Seriously, dude, that little faggot again?” Jeff’s voice was loud, loud enough to fill the quad, and I saw Craig stiffen, his hand pushing coins into the slot faster now. I wondered how long I had before he cut his losses and just ran.

Jeff was getting progressively more pissed, my ignoring him certainly not helping.

“Kyle!” he bellowed. Did Craig’s shoulders sink a little just then, when he heard my name?

I stopped, turned slowly on the spot until I was facing Jeff again. His face was

flushed red; he looked like how he ended up when Coach got sick of his constant

backchat and made him run laps until he was halfway to throwing up.

“Jeff, you’re a cunt,” I told him. Loud enough to carry; not so loud as to be

shouting. Tone flat. “You’re a grade-A fucking cunt. Go fuck yourself.”

I looked away, losing sight of his gaping, astonished expression. Craig had been

watching, I saw, but spun on the spot as he realized I was walking toward him. Too slow, though.

I reached him as he took the first few steps from the machine, wrapped my hand

around his upper arm, gently but insistently.

“We need to talk.”

No time for him to argue or even to pull away. He looked at me with utter

surprise in his eyes as I led him around the corner, out of sight, and to the parking lot.

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He had the same expression, I was beginning to realize, that several other people were looking at me with after my little outburst.

By the time we reached my car, Craig had apparently woken up from his stupor.

He pulled his arm from my grip, an angry expression on his face. I steeled myself for the onslaught.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Kyle?” he demanded. “You thought you’d

just make my life a hundred times worse with that meathead, yeah, just to really ruin things?”

I shook my head, but he wasn’t done. In fact he was growing steadily more

furious with me, it seemed.

“Don’t you get it? That fuck makes my life a living hell already. He goes out of his way to make each and every day I’m here a nightmare. The only thing saving me is the fact that most of the time I can fly under the radar, but oh no, you just had to fuck that up too.”

“But he’s a cunt, Craig; we both know it.”

He looked up at the sky, seemingly not sure whether to scream at me or to burst

into tears.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t want to tell him exactly what I

think about him, every single day? Jesus, Kyle, talk about being a dumb jock. Of course I do! But I also know that it’s a shortcut to getting something broken, or worse.”

I looked down at my feet. How was I making such a mess of what was meant to be

my triumphant reconciliation?

“I didn’t—” I started, but Craig wasn’t in the mood to let me finish.

“No, you didn’t,” he spat. “And when you’re back in the locker room, joking

around with Jeff about what a fucking badass you are, I’ll be the one with the broken nose, or the black eye, or the fractured skull, or whatever that meathead decides is 114
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fitting treatment for the ‘little faggot’ that got him showed up in front of his fucking meathead buddies. Thanks a lot, Kyle.”

I slumped back against my car. Part of me expected Craig to run off, but that last outburst seemed to have taken the wind out of him. He stood with his arms tightly

wrapped around his chest, head down, eyes pinched shut. Silence hung between us,

laced with misery.

Be honest, Kyle.

“I won’t let him,” I said, quietly. Craig didn’t look up, didn’t hardly move in fact.

“I won’t let Jeff hurt you.”

He sighed then. A long, deep sigh, the noise someone tired of their life might

make.

“And how on earth are you going to do that, Kyle? Ask him as a bro favor in the

showers after practice?”

I ignored the sarcasm and looked up at him, even though he wouldn’t return my

gaze.

“No, Craig. He’s going to know he can’t touch you, because he’ll know he can’t

get away with hurting my boyfriend.”

He glanced up then, eyes twisted in a squint. At that moment, with his face all

puzzled, I wanted desperately to reach out and gather him up in my arms. To protect him.

“What are you talking about?” There was mistrust in his voice, and I guess I

couldn’t blame him for that.

I swallowed. All of a sudden my tongue felt thick, throat dry and constricted. But I knew I had to go on, that this was my one chance, the moment Louis had told me about.