Love, Hypothetically[Theta Alpha Gamma 02 ] (2 page)

Paul smirked at him.
Trevor closed his eyes and blew a heavy breath out his nose. When he opened them up again, he looked straight at Paul. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t enough,” he shot back.
“Tell me what I can do, then. To make it up to you.” Paul turned to him fully and smiled. “You can blow me.”

aul devoted many an hour his final year of high school to devising ways to get his dick into Trevor’s mouth. Reciprocal blowjobs were a dead end. Invariably, after blowing Trevor, Paul would be so close to the edge he’d accept a handjob gratefully. He’d be too far gone to argue or plead for Trevor to suck him instead.

It was when he lay in bed at night, hard and aching with nothing but his hand for company, that Paul spent real energy dreaming up ways to get what he wanted: Trevor on his knees in front of him with a mouthful of penis.

One day near the end of their senior year—on the downhill side of baseball season, as Trevor tended to mark these things— Paul sat in his car, parked in the school lot, in possession of a (hopefully) foolproof plan. Due to his superior knowledge of Trevor’s fantasies, schedule, and baseball in general (not that he’d wanted to know so much about baseball, but he spent too much time with the star shortstop not to soak it in through osmosis, or possibly semen), Paul knew the planets had finally aligned, offering him an opportunity to coax a blowjob from his boyfriend.

Yes, “boyfriend.” Whether Trevor recognized it or not, they were a couple. One didn’t hang out and just talk or cuddle (okay, so it had only happened twice, but it counted, dammitall) with a guy who was merely one’s fuck buddy. It didn’t matter that no one else knew they were a couple, or that everyone thought Trevor was dating that cheerleader. Paul knew what was going on. The cheerleader was a beard and he was the real deal. Someday Trevor would figure it out, too. Paul just needed patience and unwavering certainty.

Trevor sucking his cock would go a long way toward encouraging him not to waver. This evening’s scheme would bolster his faith, Paul was positive.

Possibly “scheme” wasn’t the best word. “Tactics” had a more positive connotation.
At any rate, there was Stu Hodges, the team catcher, leaving the school now—he was the last guy on the team to leave, other than Trevor. Paul waited until Stu had walked around the corner of the building before climbing out of his car. He didn’t want to be nervous, but he was. His heart fluttered momentarily, but he told it to behave. The knot in his gut didn’t respond to the same admonishment, so he ignored it and walked quickly to the side door of the school gymnasium.
Good, it was unlocked. Coach Ramsey would lock it when he left, allowing whoever was left inside to get out, but no one to get in. By Paul’s calculation, Trevor’s meeting with Coach Ramsey—one of the four hundred he seemed to have where Trevor spent hours debating his best career path: college or straight to the minors—should be over soon, then Ramsey would leave and Trevor would be alone while he showered.
Alone except for Paul. He slipped inside the building, and hid in a bend in the hallway. It was dark and shadowed, although not actually that concealing. He was counting on Coach Ramsey wanting to get home and not paying much attention to nooks and crannies.
Trevor had one very specific fantasy. It was a simple one, but still unattainable for them: he wanted to do it in the shower. But when two guys were trying to keep the sexual nature of their relationship secret from, oh, everyone, it was a bit hard to manage a shower together. Since the vast majority of their sexual relationship was conducted in the back of Paul’s 1990 Toyota Corolla—where showers were generally hard to come by—they’d never fulfilled Trevor’s fantasy.
They’d fulfilled a few of Paul’s in the back of his car, though. With the exception of the blowjob one. Trevor had even let Paul get off once by rubbing between his thighs, slicked up with some lip balm left under the passenger’s seat by Paul’s older sister. Trevor could tense his hamstrings and glutes until they were almost rock hard, creating a perfect intersection between the muscles, a giving little cavity that—once he’d greased up and sunk into that secret space—had the power to make Paul’s eyes roll back in his head and his toes curl until he shook.
The feeling of Trevor thrusting between his thighs, hard dick stroking Paul’s taint . . . that had been better, in a terrifying, exhilarating way he wasn’t sure he was ready to think about yet. Fortunately, Coach Ramsey was walking along, whistling to himself, just in time to distract him. Paul hugged the wall in his dark nook and watched the man walk past, absorbed in digging something out of his pocket—his keys probably.
Now it was just Paul and Trevor and a whole wall of shower nozzles.
Trevor obliged him by being under the spray when Paul walked in. He was muscle from head to foot—all good to look at, but Paul’s favorite part was his ass. Even relaxed, the muscles looked like tight knots, strung taut from hamstrings to waist. Paul stood and watched water sluice down Trevor’s back, following the contours of his muscles, flowing down into his crack.
He wanted to flow into the crack of Trevor’s ass. He whipped his shirt over his head, jumping on one foot then the other to get his shoes off, then shucked the shorts he was wearing. He’d gone commando today for convenience. He didn’t try to keep quiet, but Trevor didn’t appear to hear him. When he walked up behind Trevor and palmed one ass cheek, Trevor jumped and whirled, eyes wide.
“Jesus Christ!”
When Trevor went slack, slumping against the wall, Paul grinned. “Scared you, huh?” He stepped in closer, sliding his hands over Trevor’s chest, feeling up his pecs and sundry other muscles.
Trevor sucked in a breath and gripped Paul’s wrists. “What are you doing? Someone could see us.”
“No one’s going to see us, Trev. I waited until everyone was gone, and your coach locked the door behind him. No one can get back in.”
Trevor stared at him, scrunching his brows as if he couldn’t quite absorb what Paul was saying. Then his hands went limp on Paul’s wrists and his gaze dropped to Paul’s lips. “You’re sure?” he asked.
“I’m positive.” The only sound was of high-pressure water droplets hitting the tile at their feet. Trevor stared at him, breathing through parted lips. “We’re alone,” Paul whispered after a moment. “In the shower.”
Trevor turned them and slammed Paul up against the tile wall, crushed his body against it, his smooth soaped-up chest sliding against Paul’s slightly hairy one.
“Oh, shit yeah,” Paul breathed.
The force of Trevor’s kiss ground Paul’s skull into the tile, flattening his lips against his teeth. He fucked into Paul’s mouth with his tongue while his fingers tangled in Paul’s pubic hair and pulled gently. Paul tried to push his dick into Trevor’s hand, but Trevor yanked it away forcing Paul’s hips against the wall with his hairy thigh. His dick was a hot, hard line nestled next to Paul’s hip, and Paul rubbed himself against it.
“Were you thinking about my fantasy?” Trevor whispered in his ear.
“Yeah,” Paul panted, writhing against him.
“Fuck, baby, I’m so ready to try that if you are.” His hand slid around Paul’s hip and his finger tentatively traced Paul’s crack. “I’ve been thinking about it all the time, even when I’m with Cherry. I have everything we need in my locker, just—”
Paul shoved Trevor off him. “What?”
Trevor blinked at him, water running off his forehead into his eyes. He stepped to the side, out of the spray. “What what?”
Paul tried to get his breathing under control. “Did you just tell me you think about me when you’re with that cheerleader?”
“Shit. Yeah, I guess I said that, huh? I didn’t mean it the way it . . . uh . . .” Trevor ran his hand through his hair.
“When you’re fucking that slut?”
“She’s not a slut,” Trevor said tiredly.
“You’re right, she’s not. She’s your beard. Do you think about me because you can’t get it up with her otherwise?”
Trevor turned bright red and groaned under his breath. “Dude, you’re killing the mood here.”
“No, you killed the mood when you said you think about me when you fuck her.” Paul said it flippantly, but dammitall, it hurt enough that Trevor actually slept with her. Oh, Paul’d known, but he sure as fuck didn’t like it. And to know on top of it the whole time Trevor would rather be with him anyway? “When you said you fantasized about doing it in the shower, by it you meant anal, didn’t you?”
Trevor looked at him warily. “Yeah,” he agreed. “What did you think I meant?”
“I thought you wanted a blowjob in the shower.”
“That’d be cool, too—”
“And you would blow me, also.”
Trevor froze. He paled slightly and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Blowjobs are so gay.”
There were a myriad of possible responses to that, but Paul went with, “Blowing me makes you uncomfortable, but you’ll fuck Cherry.”
“I have to fuck her, Paul! If I didn’t, people might think I’m not . . . you know.”
“Straight? You aren’t straight.”
“I’m bi-curious,” he insisted like always.
Paul arched a brow. “So, you’re just using me to assuage your curiosity?”
“No!” Trevor snapped. “I like you, you know? I know you know, I told you enough times. If I didn’t like you, you think I’d be screwing around with a guy?”
Paul snorted. “Yeah. I do. You’re gay, Trev. You can fuck that bitch and make fun of the homos along with your teammates all you want, but you and I both know you’ve got a boner for penis. You’re just scared to tell anyone bec—”
“Of course I’m scared,” Trevor said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “You think I can play in the major leagues someday if I’m into guys? Not happening.”
“It’s that important to you to play baseball?”
Trevor stared at him for a long moment, like he pitied Paul for being so dense. “Yes,” he answered quietly.
Paul understood what was going on. They’d been over this ground before, and he couldn’t win this battle. So he punted—or whatever the hell they called it. He’d take what he could get. If he played this right, victory—in the form of Trevor’s mouth on his dick—was within reach.
Trevor watched him think it through, and he seemed to sense Paul had become amenable again. He smiled his sexy smile, with the teeth and the dimple.
I bet Cherry spreads her legs eagerly when he smiles like that.
He had to stop doing this to himself. So when Trevor reached out a hand for him, Paul stepped forward, back into his arms.
“You think I’m going to suck your dick, huh?” Trevor asked him between kisses, smoothing his hands up and down Paul’s back. He pressed hard against Paul’s obliques, stroking the sensitive skin under his arm.
“Yeah,” Paul said into Trevor’s open mouth. “I think you’re going to get on your knees and blow me.” He pressed his mouth to Trevor’s, sucking his tongue in and stroking it suggestively, pressing his hard cock against Trevor’s thigh.
Trevor pulled away, then licked up Paul’s neck. “How about you go first?” he murmured in Paul’s ear. “Then I’ll take care of you, baby.”
Dammitall, here they were again. But before Paul could say anything like, “I’m not falling for that anymore,” Trevor pulled back a few inches from him, took Paul’s shoulders in his hands, and held him still, looking into his eyes. They hung there a moment, neither really doing anything except, well, communing. This was how Paul knew Trevor was his only, because they could speak without words sometimes.
Trevor took a small nervous breath and held it, and Paul knew with absolute certainty that he really meant it this time. And thank God, because Paul needed it. Not because he needed it—although it would be fucking awesome to be brought to orgasm in someone’s mouth someday, preferably Trevor’s—but because he had to have this to keep the faith. Baby steps. Someday Trevor would be out and with him and only him. A blowjob would be a small step in that direction.
Paul smiled, going for a come-hither look but not really caring if he hit it; he just felt like smiling at his boyfriend. “So . . .” he swirled a finger around one of Trevor’s nipples. “You want me to suck your cock?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, you faggot!”
Paul nearly fainted, the blood drained out of his head so fast. Trevor’s face paled just as quickly, and Trevor swayed slightly, held up only by his grip on Paul’s shoulders. Paul closed his eyes a second to gather strength, then leaned sideways far enough to see behind Trevor.
Calvin Zelinski stood there, mouth open in horrified disgust.
“How did you get in here?” Paul asked numbly.
“The custodian let me in. Did you seriously just ask him if you could suck his dick?”
A quick glance told Paul the organ in question was as flaccid as a rubber chicken. A few seconds before, it had been hard as a drumstick. Dammitall. Now that he was over his initial shock, he felt strangely pragmatic. Like he’d been waiting for this—for Trevor to be pried out of his closet.
He might get to be Trevor’s one and only a little ahead of schedule.
“Uh, dude . . .” Trevor said weakly, then seemed to give up.
“It’s all right, man,” Calvin said, puffing out his chest.
It was?
“I heard him, and now that I’m here, he can’t do anything to you.”
Paul froze. He felt Trevor’s fingers tighten convulsively on his shoulders.
“What?” Trevor croaked, staring at Paul but talking to Calvin.
“It’s okay, man, I’m here. I got your back.”
Calvin Zelinski was a fucking moron. As if Trevor couldn’t handle Paul all on his own? He was three inches taller and a few dozen pounds heavier.
Paul’s attention turned back to Trevor when he felt him sway again, just barely. He looked up and saw the realization in Trevor’s face: they hadn’t been caught and exposed as fags, only Paul had.
He wouldn’t do that to me.
Would he?
He did. “It’s okay, Cal. I had it under control, but thanks for the assist, dude. He’s harmless, it’s just a little, uh, crush.” He let go of Paul’s shoulders, peeled his fingers off one by one and stepped back until several feet separated them. It was another one of those moments where they communicated only with their eyes, but it left Paul wishing they didn’t have that ability. “He’s been after me for a while,” Trevor added, begging silently for Paul to play along.
Ah, yes, there was the panic he hadn’t felt earlier—racing heart, cotton mouth, blood pooling in his torso, trembling limbs. Was this happening? He tried a pleading look on Tre vor.
All the expression bled from Trevor’s face, and his eyes went flat, almost like he’d died—for Paul at least. “You know how it is, dude. It’s the super-jock star power—works on chicks and gay boys.” He gave Paul one more opaque look before turning to face Calvin.
Calvin laughed and slapped Trevor’s hand when he lifted it for a high five.
“Trevor?”
Trevor didn’t quite turn back to him, just mostly. “Paul, you need to stop trying. It’s not going anywhere,” he said.
Paul straightened himself—mentally and physically— and carefully shut off the running water. His heart thudded in sync with the sound of the last few drops dribbling from the nozzle, and he took those few drips of time to gather his calm.
When he turned back to face them, Calvin was staring at him in a way he didn’t like. Paul swallowed. “Yeah, obviously this isn’t what I thought at all.” He tried to look at Trevor, but Trevor wouldn’t lift his gaze from the ground. Paul forced himself to rasp, “Sorry,” and then walked to the stack of towels, shaking hands wrapping one around his hips in the completely silent room.
As he walked to his pile of clothes, Paul heard Trevor say surreptitiously, “Calvin, be cool and don’t mention this to anyone, okay dude? I don’t want to embarrass the guy, or make it too hard on him.”
It was way too fucking late for that.