Part two was a cliffhanger, and what a cruel man I was for leaving you waiting. It's taken me longer than expected (yes, that's the story of my writing life!) but part three is finally done, taking Tommy further out of his comfort zone. I'd almost say he gets himself into some hairy situations, except we all know he's taken care of that already...
I completely neglected to thank my ever-helpful proofreaders, Andy and Daniel, for their hard work on part two as well as this latest part - thanks guys! And big thanks to Shawn, too, for his help with inspiration.
As always, comments and feedback gleefully received - you can catch me on alexp336@gmail.com
A.
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A Closer Shave - part 3
Trying to put on a t-shirt, and jeans, when you're still damp from the shower and increasingly frantic about getting kicked off a team you've only been on for a week was, Tommy observed with rising panic, neither the easiest thing to do nor something particularly conducivea to calming down. He could feel the tightening knot of anxiety in his chest, a growing physical pain that had started when Coach Collins first called out his name, and had been building ever since. Maybe, if he'd been a stalwart of the swim team, he'd know the coaches well enough to understand their moods and whims, but right now Collins was an enigma and one who hadn't exactly given the impression of being happy with the new freshman.
Ramming his feet into his sneakers, Tommy slammed his locker shut and - still stuffing things into his bag as he stumbled across untied laces - tried to move as quickly as possible to the coach's office. Round the corner from the small row of rooms where Andrews had worked his shaving magic the previous Friday, the office was somewhere Tommy had only been once before, when he first stopped by to sign up to the team.
Then, he'd been more interested in making a good first impression to really notice anything about the room or, for that matter, any of the three coaching staff who used it. Coach Collins was the youngest, he knew, not to mention the quietest; he generally brooded on the sidelines, leaving the heavy-duty shouting to his colleagues; Coach Anderson who was a brittle, ostensibly cheerful man in his late forties or fifties, and Coach Jepson who seemed to use gruffness as a way of appearing older than his actual age, which Tommy pegged somewhere in the mid-thirties.
Tommy stood outside the door and wondered if he should knock and wait, or just go in, eventually settling on a compromise of briefly knocking and then immediately opening it. Coach Collins was stood with his back to the door, leaning over a desk and working on some papers; he didn't look back when Tommy stepped inside.
"Close the door, Tommy," the older man instructed, and Tommy eased it shut, suddenly conscious of the noise he was making. "I'll just be a moment."
He didn't say to sit down, and Tommy didn't want to tempt wrath by doing so uninstructed, so instead he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, bag between his feet. Eventually, Collins turned round, leaning back against the edge of the desk with his arms folded.
For a minute or two they watched each other, Tommy not daring to speak and the coach simply staring. "So how are you settling in on the team?" he asked, finally. Tommy gulped.
"Well... okay, I think, coach" he stuttered, resisting the urge to fidget under the man's serious gaze. "I mean, it's still early and all, but..."
He petered out, glanced down at the floor. Collins nodded, slowly. "But... you don't know if you'll be good enough to keep up with the other guys, or if you can fit in swimming around your schoolwork, or something else?"
"I guess all of them," Tommy admitted. He risked a glance up, but found Collins still wearing the same blank expression. "I didn't really know what to expect."
Collins grunted his understanding, nodded again. Was that the hint of a frown forming in the middle of his forehead? Oh god, Tommy thought, don't let him be angry with me.
"It's a tough one, Tommy. Most of the time none of us know what to expect. Sure, we can get a transcript of a new guy on the team, and usually a list of his best times and such, but the guy himself? That's a mystery up until the day he walks into our locker room."
Collins stood up, picked up his jacket, which had been slung across the desk, and walked around Tommy to hang it on a hook by the door.
"So we don't know if we're getting a team player, or a liability, or the guy who will take us through sectionals and regionals and all the way, or someone who's signing up for all the wrong reasons." He stepped up to Tommy's side. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Tommy shook his head. He really didn't. "Not really, coach."
The older guy sighed, leaned in a little. "We don't know if we're getting someone who's only interested in being on the team because he likes to strut around the locker room and get up to shit in the showers."
The clenching feeling in his chest had been joined by iciness in his guts. Shit. Shit oh shit. Had Collins seen himm Ben, and Carl, and what they'd been doing? He'd assumed the coach had simply come in and found him after all of that had happened, but now... was that what Collins was hinting at?
"I don't... I mean, I'm not sure..." The words fumbled out of his mouth, jumbled and confused, but Collins interrupted.
"Let me tell you what I see, Tommy. I see an eighteen year old with a bit of natural skill, walk in through those doors and sign up on day one, and then less than a week later he's strutting around with his junk out, making a spectacle of himself, and getting up to some conspicuously intimate and inappropriate things with other guys in the showers."
Oh... shit.
"I'm going to lay it out for you, Tommy. I walk into the locker room tonight and I find our new guy on his knees in the showers, jerking off two of my best swimmers, and looking pleased as goddamn punch while he does it. Jogging your memory?"
Tommy glanced around at Collins' face, and then snapped his attention back forward again after he saw the look of anger there. What could he say?
"Look, Tommy." The coach's voice was quieter now, softer. "I'm not some out-of-it, aging relic. I'm twenty-seven, I understand that sometimes weird shit happens that you get caught up in. You know the school has a no-hazing policy, right? I need to know whether those guys - or any of the guys - have been trying to put you through any weird initiation crap. Making it so that you need to do it in order to keep your place?"
Tommy shook his head, not quite trusting his voice. Collins sighed.
"So help me out here, will you? Because right now I'm seeing a kid who's shaving off all his hair and waving his dick around, and giving out hand-jobs to seniors, and that's not the sort of distraction we can afford. Or am I missing something that you can explain to me?"
Deep breath. Try to swallow, even though your mouth and lips are dry. Try to explain before things go too far.
"They weren't forcing me, coach... but... I guess I don't know what was happening. This is all so new, and... different, and things just seem to have escalated so quickly."
Collins nodded, watching Tommy's face closely.
"So why don't you tell me how it started."
Tommy could already feel himself blushing, but he still began retelling the story of how his hair issue had been pointed out by one of his teammates, and how Andrews had been suggested as ideally suited to help fix it. He left out the part about how Andrews had got him off, of course.
"So how do we go from ill-advised grooming to... what I saw going on today?" Collins pressed. Tommy fought the urge to wring his hands.
"It wasn't planned, coach. We just got talking, and they were interested in what had happened, and then... I dunno, I guess it's hormones or something. I... I don't understand it myself, really."
A pause, as the stern looking coach apparently considered the vague explanation. Tommy kept his eyes fixed resolutely on a spot on the carpet a couple of feet between them.
"Look, Tommy. We're not just responsible for your performance on the team, y'know, we're also responsible for how your health is holding up. Physical and mental health. So we need to make sure that you're not being manipulated, and that you're not putting yourself at risk, okay?" Tommy nodded, still not looking up. "So, I have to make sure you've not hurt yourself - or that Andrews hasn't done something to hurt you - after the week you've been having. Make sense?"
Tommy wasn't sure exactly what the coach was talking about, but it sounded undoubtedly better than being told he was off the team and in disgrace. Collins took his quiet as agreement.
"Okay, so I need to check things over to make sure you're not infected down there or anything. Did Andrews use any antibacterial stuff when he finished up?" Tommy shook his head. "Right. So you need to get undressed and get up on the couch, please."
Get undressed? Up on the... oh, no, not again! Tommy felt his stomach twisting in knots; he was almost reconsidering his previous belief that whatever Collins had in mind would be better than getting kicked out. The older man was just watching him, arms crossed, a look of "take no shit" on his face, and obviously had no time for arguments.
Tommy slipped off his t-shirt, struggled back out of his jeans. He was dry, for the most part, but that mainly meant that whatever water had been on him had transferred to his clothes, making removing them a struggle. He almost tripped and fell while trying to pry off a sock, Collins having to quickly step over and grab his arm to hold him upright.
"Lean on me, yeah?" he said quietly, fingers gripping Tommy's elbow tightly, their forearms pressed together in the process. Tommy could feel the heat coming off him. Collins was taller than him, wider, quite obviously a strong guy and in great shape; there was something intimidating about him, too.
When he was down to his boxers, he paused, but the coach showed no indication of moving away. Another deep breath, then he pushed his shorts down to around his ankles and tried again to not flinch at being so exposed.
Collins didn't stare, though. Instead, he placed a reassuring hand on the small of Tommy's back, pushed him gently toward the paper-covered couch by the wall. "I know it feels weird, buddy, but we have to get through this, okay?"
Tommy clambered up onto the squeaky frame, folded his arms across his lap in a way that he hoped wouldn't look like he was pathetically trying to hide his junk. The coach walked over to a cabinet and started rooting around inside.
"Y'see, Tommy, when you shave stuff - especially stuff down there, between your legs - you can end up cutting yourself, even small cuts you can't actually see. They can get infected, and that's something you don't really want to happen, yeah?" Tommy nodded, but Collins wasn't looking over, still engrossed in the content of the cabinet.
Eventually, he walked over with a plastic tub. "This is antiseptic cream, okay? It'll take care of any cuts or grazes."
Collins put the tub down on the couch, next to Tommy, then reached down and gripped the boy's ankle. "Up we go," he muttered, almost to himself, lifting Tommy's foot until the heel rested on the edge of the seat, before doing the same with the other leg. Tommy was forced to lean back, shoulders against the cool wall.
He felt... exposed again. Incredibly exposed. Coach was right up between his legs, and basically everything Tommy had was on display - he knew the older man would be able to see everything. Panic started to seethe in his chest.
Cracking open the lid of the tub, Collins looked up, between Tommy's thighs to make eye-contact with the boy. "I need you to hold onto your knees, okay? This is going to be over real quick."
Knuckles white as he gripped his legs as instructed, Tommy watched with open-mouthed, mute horror as his coach scooped up a gob of the translucent, glistening cream and ran his fingertips across his abdomen. He couldn't quite resist a hiss as the cold hit him, then the feel of Collins' hands running down, across the sensitive skin where his thighs joined his groin, and up under his balls.
"Andrews did you everywhere, eh?" Collins said, a half-grin on his face, but Tommy couldn't reply, couldn't bring himself to speak or even nod. It didn't seem to matter, though; the coach's slick fingers were on his balls, and then circling around the base of his shaft, and then finally smoothing the cream along the length of Tommy's dick.
"I heard what Carl and Ben were talking to you about." Collins said, voice suddenly quieter. "About how being shaved would make you look bigger." Tommy watched with wide eyes as Collins' fingers dipped down, until they were easing cream into the splayed open crack of the boy's ass. Fingertips tracing cooly across his hole, sending his brain hurtling into memories of how Andrews had fingered him.
"Please, coach, I don't..." he grunted, willing his cock not to respond but watching as it betrayed him all the same. It started to thicken where it lolled between his legs, beginning to stretch upwards on its way to full erection.
Collins rested his other hand on Tommy's inner thigh, and wrapped his fingers around the base of his hardening dick. "Andrews did a good job, didn't he? Picked you out of the crowd real quick." Tommy squeezed his eyes shut as the wet grip stroked slowly from root to tip, palm closed tightly around the head of his cock.
"Coach, please..." he started, sending Collins chuckling.
"Oh yeah, now look at you." His fist tightened on the tip of Tommy's erection. "So desperate for it, aren't you." Now his other hand slipped down, fingertip circling around Tommy's entrance as the boy whimpered and shook at his touch.
"Coach, no, it's not... I'm not..." Tommy tried to explain, but Collins was having none of it. He pushed his finger against the youth until he opened his eyes.
"I know exactly what you are, kid, okay? Knew it from the moment I saw you shaking that big bare teen dick around the locker room. Knew it before I caught you trading handjobs in the shower. Sometimes you just spot a slut in a Speedo as soon as he steps out by the pool, and I spotted you."
Tommy groaned, head spinning. He wanted to protest, to tell the coach that he had it all wrong, but the sensations radiating out from between his legs were overwhelming, pushing rational thought and the screaming of his conscience to the sidelines. He watched as Collins placed a hand on his chest, pressed him down so that he was lying on his back, the coach still gripping his swollen dick like a joystick.
Collins fumbled one-handed at his tracksuit, pushing the waistband down until it caught at mid-thigh. Tommy looked across, hypnotized by the thick length, trapped and bulging in the swimsuit. The coach tugged down until his cock sprang free, hard and eagerly pointing toward the boy.
"This is how it's going to work, Tommy," Collins explained, voice low and serious. "You're going to open your mouth and you're going to suck me, right? No bullshit, no dumbass protests that both of us know aren't real. You get one chance to redeem yourself or it's fuckin' game over, yeah?"
Tommy wasn't sure if he was shaking his head or nodding, but it didn't seem to matter to Collins; the coach leaned forward, pushing his cock down, until it was an inch from Tommy's lips.
"No bullshit," coach murmured, and Tommy opened his mouth, dipped his head forward to close the distance, almost on autopilot as Collins' prick grazed across his tongue.
Coach's cock was fat, meaty - thick enough that Tommy wouldn't be able to wrap his fingers around it, and have them meet, anyway - and it quickly filled his mouth, the pronounced flare of the head grinding roughly across his twitching tongue. All the time, Collins' hand kept up a slow, squeezing rhythm around Tommy's glans, the slippery cream mixing with the now steady ooze of the boy's precum.
"That's right, Tommy, you're doing great. Wrap your tongue around it... you want to make me feel good, don't you? Want to convince me we did the right thing putting you on the team?" Tommy grunted as his lips stretched around the steely girth of the man's prick. "Shit, yeah, you're a fuckin' natural, just like I knew you would be. Fuckin' cocksucker lips teasing me all week."
Tommy groaned, his body's betrayal - despite everything he knew he should be feeling, he was overwhelmingly aroused by the feel of his coach's long dick nudging at his throat, the musky smell of the man's close-cropped pubes filling his nostrils - battling against his instinctual reserve. He knew he'd been manipulated, that were Collins' actions made public it would be him, not Tommy, who was in trouble, but the urge to satisfy an authority figure was taking dominance.
"Now swallow down on it, and try not to choke," Collins' instructed, and as Tommy gulped he bucked his hips forward until the boy's gullet was pulsing around the swollen tip. The young swimmer's eyes were watering, but his coach was relentless, jabbing his dick inside and grunting at the fluttering feel of the clinging flesh massaging it.
"Andrews told me all about you, Tommy," the older man confided. He looked down, winked at the boy. "He told me about your little shaving game, how you were all too ready to play with him. And then to find you already making a move on the other guys on the team... fuck, boy, you're a dirty little slut, aren't you?"
Tommy moaned, despair and horniness in equal measure, as the shame and the excitement of it all took over his body and rocked it with jolts of forbidden pleasure. Collins' fingers had begun tracing long strokes, down the underside of Tommy's smooth cock and across his balls, dipping between his splayed cheeks and eventually tapping at his hole, before making the journey back up again. With the memory of Andrews' finger in him, it was all he could do not to push his hips down and hope that coach would catch on.
He was sucking cock, and sucking cock was gay, but Tommy couldn't stop himself, even if Collins' had allowed him to. Less than half an hour ago he'd had two cocks in his hands, cum blasting across his cheeks. Now it looked like his coach wanted to do the same down his throat, and he couldn't bring himself to rebel, to say "hang on, this isn't who I am." Instead Tommy ran his tongue against the swollen length invading his mouth and tried not to sound too slutty as he did it.
Then coach was pulling his dick free, slapping it wetly against Tommy's lips, his cheeks, his nose as he chuckled at the boy's attempts to recapture it in his mouth, all pretense at reticence gone.
"Play with your nipples" the man directed, and Tommy reached up and pinched, tugged at the dark brown little nubs, rolling their hardness between his fingertips as Collins left smears of juice and spit across his flushed face.
"Andrews told me about how you lost your mind with his fingers up you," Collins sneered, fist wrapped tight around the base of his shaft as he rubbed the pronounced head against Tommy's features. "I bet you're imagining me fingering you now, aren't you."
The boy whimpered, but he didn't stop torturing his nipples or trying to catch his coach's wet glans between his lips again. Collins chuckled.
"Can't say I object to opening up some virgin freshman meat, though." Again, his fingers slid down between Tommy's legs, until the tips were twisting against the swimmer's tightness. "Jesus, I can feel you tryin' to get me in you."
Tommy opened his mouth wide, tried to look up at the muscular guy with as much "feed me, please!" telegraphed through his expression as possible. It must've worked, too, as Collins tipped his hips forward and let the full length of his cock slide in, until it was lodged again in the boy's throat. At the same time, just as Tommy was trying to process how he was meant to breathe and suck and generally not pass out from a mixture of oxygen deprivation and lust, the coach jabbed two fingers roughly into his ass.
He squealed, muffled by dick, and bucked on the hand that was relentlessly pistoning into him, Collins wasting no time in stretching and teasing the innocent hole while making short, jabbing thrusts into the teen's throat. Tommy's cock slapped and twitched, precum making slick trails against his sweat-sheened skin.
"Play with my balls" coach ordered, and Tommy complied, reaching out with one hand and cradling the older man's heavy nuts as they rocked between his legs. They were smooth, almost as smooth as Tommy's own shaved crotch, and he concentrated on kneading them while Collins fucked his face.
The incredible arousal - not only from what the coach was doing to his naive body, but what he'd done in the showers just before - was building to a fever-pitch. Tommy desperately wanted to reach down, grab his cock and flail at it madly until he blew his load, but he instinctively knew that he wasn't allowed to touch until Collins gave permission.
Tommy's body wasn't so concerned with permission, though, and as Collins' fingers nudged against his prostate he felt his groin go into overdrive. Reaching down, still slurping around the thick meat stretching his face, he grabbed the coach's wrist and yanked it up close against his body, forcing the two probing fingers as deep as they'd go.
His dick went off like a firework, cum blasting across his chin, his chest, his stomach, as the hands-free load pulsed out of him, thick and wet. Tommy could smell the cloying sweetness of it. Collins' turned-on response was to jackhammer his face, the freshman swimmer became a little more than a hot, slick hole for the dominant man's pleasure.
Collins smeared his hand through the cum across Tommy's chest, then pumped at his shaft, glazing it with juice that was promptly fed into the youth's own mouth. Tommy could taste his cream, the musk of it mixing with his coach's precum, and then Collins was shuddering himself as he reached his own climax.
Tommy felt the head of the man's cock swell and looked up to see the coach's eyes screwed closed, teeth clenched, and then it was the shocking gush of cum at the back of his throat, Collins pulling back a little so that the next few shots pooled on the eighteen year old's tongue.
"Holy fuck" Collins gasped, sliding his sensitive glans through the slime-coated mouth, letting his fingers fall out of the boy's hole. He looked down, to where the young swimmer's lips were still pulled taut around his thick shaft, thin trails of cum leaking out the sides and down his chin. Pulling his cock free, he slapped it against Tommy's face, snorting with laughter at the look of dazed surprise in the boy's eyes.
Then his hand was on Tommy's throat, fingers gripping, pushing his head back against the vinyl of the couch, as his other fingers scooped up jizz from the youth's cheeks, his chin, his chest and stomach.
"Open wide" he instructed, punctuating the command with a squeeze of the boy's gullet, before feeding the cream into Tommy's gaping mouth. The young swimmer could feel the cooling spunk trickle down his tongue, then Collins' fingers were digging inside, as the coach wiped off the last dregs.
"Well fuck, kid!" he muttered, breathing hard. Tommy fought the urge to squeeze his eyes closed as he tried to process what had happened, tried to comprehend the tastes in his mouth and the sensations still radiating out from his body. "You're an eager little fucker, aren't you?" Collins threw a towel onto Tommy's chest, yanked up his swimsuit and sweatpants.
He wiped his hands against his ass, giving the youth a casual look over. "I can see what Andrews was talking about, now," he concluded.
Tommy looked across. "What do you mean?"
Collins grinned at him. "He told me you were about five minutes and a little self-doubt from getting fucked." Tommy could feel himself blushing; he started to sit up. "And having seen how you like your ass getting worked over, I think he's probably right."
"Can I get dressed, coach?" he asked, quietly, eying the pile of his clothes on the floor. Collins nodded.
"Sure, it's probably time you were getting out of here anyway. Practice was over a long time ago."
Tommy resisted the urge to point out that he would've been gone at least twenty minutes earlier, had Collins himself not delayed him, but he focused instead on pulling on his boxers, his jeans, and his t-shirt.
When he was dressed, albeit a little bedraggled, he stood at the door with his hand on the handle. "Are we done, coach?"
Collins looked up from his desk. "For the moment, Tommy, yeah, we are." He leered a little at the boy. "Maybe you should come see me next practice, so we can make sure that no infections have set in."
All he could do was force out a tight nod and then escape, snatching up his rucksack and hurrying through the door and out into the cool darkness. His body was beginning to ache, both from the swimming and from the clenched tightness the anxiety of the past hour or so had mustered in him.
Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. The cafeteria should still be open, so he could at least avoid pizza; Darren was an addict, but Tommy knew that over-indulging at night would leave him regretting it the morning after.
As he glanced again at the screen, he noticed the text message icon blinking.
It was Andrews. Sent just after practice had finished.
"We need to talk," was all it said; Tommy found himself re-reading it over and over, and then jammed his phone back in his pocket.
What could Andrews want? After the madness with coach Collins, he wasn't exactly feeling charitable toward the older swimmer - the fact that he'd told Collins everything that they'd done together didn't say much about his discretion. At this point, all Tommy really felt like grabbing was a snack and curling up in bed; maybe taking another shower after the exertions in the coach's office.
Yet he found himself slipping out his phone again, and reading Andrews' message for the umpteenth time, and - fingers almost on autopilot, somehow - thumbing out his dorm room number in reply, and hitting send before exactly what he was doing - and, indeed, how it might be interpreted - could sink in.
--- Maybe, then, it should've been no surprise when there was a knock on his door about an hour or so later. Tommy had grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria and taken it upstairs, the remaining bread going stale with the wilting lettuce on its cardboard plate as he struggled through his math textbook. He stood, warily, and then finally opened the door.
"Let me guess," Andrews said, sweeping in past Tommy and immediately talking at him. "Collins tried to hit on you after practice." He wasn't exactly talking quietly, and Tommy hurriedly shut the door so that the other guys on his floor wouldn't hear - at least, he hoped they wouldn't.
"He told me you'd said I would be interested," he retorted, a little anger in his voice. Andrews looked at him with a weary expression. "Oh, and just because he told you that, you threw your legs up in the air for him?" Tommy gasped, unable to control himself. "No!" He could feel himself sweating, now; just a little, but enough to add to the feeling of uneasiness that hung around him.
The older youth grinned, slyly. "Sure, Tommy. I bet you put up a real strong fight when he told you the easiest way to get ahead on the team..."
Tommy could feel his body shaking now, a mixture of shame and growing rage. He hadn't invited it, he knew he hadn't! And the coach had made it very clear that Andrews' comments had given him just the excuse he needed to try something.
"That's bullshit!" he found himself crying out, his own voice now the one that was carrying. "This is all your fault!"
Andrews rolled his eyes. "Please. You saw an opportunity to get a better position without having to put in the work, and you jumped at it. Or rolled over for it, anyway. What happened, Tommy, did you let him fuck you for a spot in the first squad?"
Tommy had his fists gripped in Andrews' shirt before he knew what he was doing, had the older boy pressed up tight against the wall. For a moment there was a look of surprise on his face, and then he was pushing back, and quicker than Tommy knew what was happening, Andrews had spun him around and it was his back that was jammed up to the plasterboard.
"Listen, kid," Andrews hissed. "You can run your 'poor, misunderstood straight boy' routine all you want, and you can fuck, suck, or generally slobber all over anybody you want on the down-low, but don't get up in my face when I call you on it! Understand?"
Lungs heaving, Tommy nodded. "I didn't... I mean, I didn't let him fuck me," he managed to gasp, going a little cross-eyed from trying to focus on Andrews just a few inches away from him. "He just made me... well... suck him."
Andrews sighed, relaxed his grip on his teammate's shirt. Tommy realized he'd been clenching his muscles, forced himself to go limp again.
"Sounds about right," Andrews eventually replied. "He's a fucking dirty old pervert, that one." He let go of Tommy, took a half-step back and watched as the boy brushed himself down self-consciously.
"I didn't plan any of this, Andrews," Tommy insisted. He could feel the tone in the room had changed, the anger and urgent aggression lost. Now Andrews almost seemed weary. Eventually, the older swimmer glanced around, then up and down at what Tommy was wearing.
"We're going out. I'm taking you to a party"
Tommy had protested. In fact, that was an understatement: he'd started by protesting that he was tired, then pointed out the stack of textbooks he was meant to be memorizing, and then finally insisted that there was no way he was in any fit state to go out with Andrews. Which made it something of a surprise that he still found himself following along as Andrews led him across campus, refusing to explain where they were going or who was actually throwing the party. The twenty-year-old had briefly dug through Tommy's closet, pulled out a pale blue shirt, and insisted on the boy putting it on, then embarrassed him hugely by rolling up the sleeves for him as if he was some kid who couldn't dress himself.
Now, all he would say was that Tommy would enjoy himself, and that he should trust him, and that he should really shut the hell up because all these questions and complaints were getting annoying, and a guy should really learn when to be grateful that another guy wants to show him how to have a good time, for heaven's sakes.
So Tommy shut up. And walked.
Eventually, they ended up just off campus, into the first streets where the school-owned buildings gave way to private apartment blocks almost universally rented to second-year students or older. Tommy had assumed it would be easy to tell which was the particular place they were headed to, but in fact it seemed quite a few people had decided to celebrate the beginning of term, and several windows were lit up with obvious revelry. Along the way, they bumped into a number of people, many of whom clearly knew Andrews and enthusiastically greeted him, with Tommy doing his best to blend into the background and look inconspicuous in his uncertainty.
The door they finally stopped at was wide open, spilling thudding bass into the night. A couple of older guys stood around, smoking, and squinted dubiously at Tommy as he tried not to bounce from foot to foot nervously. Andrews seemed to know them well enough, though, and the pair passed through and onto the stairs without any hassle.
"Don't be an idiot, okay?" was Andrews' final advice as they walked into the apartment. Tommy was about to ask what he was meant to avoid being idiotic about, and then he spotted the guys kissing.
Lots of guys or at least, quite a few guys anyway, but definitely kissing. No girls. Just guys. Kissing guys.
He made the conscious effort to stop gawping and tried to look blasé about it, as he followed Andrews into the kitchen where a makeshift bar had been set up, and only glancing out of the corner of his eye at what was going on around him. Not that he thought there was much chance of being noticed even if he outright stared: most of the people were clearly caught up in what they were doing.
Andrews pushed a cup into his hands and looked at him pointedly. "Focus on not being an idiot, okay?" Tommy nodded, and after a pause Andrews nodded back.
It wasn't beer, like Tommy had expected, but something else, something stronger, and after one ill-advised initial gulp he satisfied himself with tiny sips. Andrews was talking to some people he clearly knew, though still standing close enough to Tommy that he didn't feel abandoned, occasionally glancing over to see that the eighteen year old was still there.
Tommy couldn't stop looking at the gay guys, though. At least, he assumed they were gay: Ben and Carl had kissed, sure, but only briefly, and not with the same sort of lingering enthusiasm that these guys were showing. They weren't being shy with their hands, either, and Tommy could see at least one person reaching up under his partner's shirt, and another getting felt up through their jeans.
Perhaps most surprising of all was how uninterested the rest of the room was in what was going on. Nobody was staring, or whispering about or even really paying any attention whatsoever. Whereas Tommy had been to parties in high school where even boys and girls kissing had been a cause of catcalls and whistles.
Andrews voice at his ear suddenly gave him a start; he hadn't noticed the older youth break away from his conversation.
"Turning you on, Tommy?" he asked, voice low and purring. Tommy swallowed, a little uncomfortably. "Just say if you want to give it a try..."
Kiss Andrews? Tommy hadn't even considered it, but now the thought of the handsome swimmer's lips smudging against his own was all he could think about. He'd kissed a girl before, of course, in the usual fumbling prom dance way... would Andrews be different? More manly and aggressive?
He couldn't bring himself to reply, didn't trust his voice not to betray his curiosity, but jolted again as he felt Andrews' hand slip around his waist. The memory of the youth' fist around his cock, his fingers twisting in his ass. Tommy wanted to readjust his dick where it was getting tangled in his jeans, but he didn't dare; he held his breath as Andrews' fingers carefully stroked across the edge of his abs.
"You're thinking `hang on, would that make me gay?' aren't you," Andrews commented, voice still barely above a whisper. Tommy could feel his breath, warm on his ear. "Even after everything you've done today, kissing a guy would be the thing that made you question yourself, wouldn't it."
Tommy nodded. Andrews was right: he could write of what he'd done with Carl and Ben as weird, hormone-driven fooling around, and what Coach Collins had made him do as having been coerced by someone in authority, but willingly - purposefully - kissing another guy, well, that would have to say something about his sexuality, surely? At least cast some doubt onto it.
He heard a chuckle from nearby, looked over to see the group of guys Andrews had been talking to watching him. "You want to watch out, kid, he's got a silver tongue that one," one of them warned, a grin across his face and a slightly drunken twinkle in his eye. Andrews fingers fluttered against his side; he could feel the older boy's chin resting on his shoulder.
"This is the latest project, Andrews?" another asked, and the three of them laughed. Tommy expected Andrews to say something in response but he didn't, just snaked his other hand around so that it rested, flat, on his stomach. He fought the urge to tense his muscles, whether out of discomfort or to impress his teammate, he wasn't sure.
Tommy took another sip, and felt Andrews' lips brush his ear. "Your mouth would taste of Coke and aniseed," he told him, gently rubbing across his stomach. "I can imagine it right now."
Did Andrews really want to kiss him, or was all this some crazy tease, some stupid hazing stunt that would see him laughed off the team if he actually went through with it? And more to the point, why was the concern of that the primary thing giving him pause for thought, not the very fact that he would be kissing another guy?
He didn't think he was gay, but he was tempted, and he couldn't blame whatever drink Andrews had given him and yet still remained mostly in his red plastic cup for that. And Andrews was, well, handsome and definitely fit, and - Tommy was in no confusion about this - someone who people would consider "a catch" and, if he was going to do something with another dude, then sure, the 20 year old stud was probably the best candidate he could think of.
If. If he was. A big if.
And if - if! - he was going to do something, it seemed like here, this random apartment where people could kiss people of the same gender and not raise even an eyebrow, would be the place to do it. Even if Andrews' friends were jokingly warning him off, which Tommy wasn't really convinced by anyway.
And the feel of Andrews' hands on him was so good, so incredibly good. He found himself turning without really thinking about it, slipping around in Andrews' grip so that he was facing the older youth. Andrews had a look of mixed surprise and pleasure on his face, and Tommy blushed, happy not to be a foregone conclusion. He let his face dip forward, and watched as a second later Andrews did the same, until he felt his lips press, so gently, against the other boy's, then Andrews' hands more eager at the small of his back, pulling their bodies together from the hips down, and he was kissing him and being kissed back.
Tommy gasped, pulled away and glanced around, but Andrews' friends had gone back to their conversations, and were clearly entirely uninterested in what was taking place. In fact nobody was looking at them; nobody had grasped the momentousness of what was happening, and he was still marveling at that when Andrews pulled his head back in and kissed him again.
Gentle, first, and then more aggressive, and then his tongue was duelling with Andrews' tongue and his lips were stinging from where the older swimmer was nipping, biting at them, and he could feel the jut of Andrews' erection pushing into his hip and knew that Andrews must be able to feel his own. Grinding his pelvis forward and feeling Andrews leaning back into him.
Andrews' fingers traced across the short hair at the back of his head, thumb hooked under the soft nub of his earlobe, as he pulled back, resting his forehead against Tommy's.
"There, that wasn't so bad was it?" he asked, and Tommy laughed, probably blushed again but didn't care.
"Shut up, Andrews," he told him, and then kissed him again, reveling in the feeling of taking charge of the moment, letting his hands trace the unmistakably masculine taper of Andrews' back from shoulders down to narrow waist, fingers eventually resting on his hips and feeling the warmth of his toned skin through the fabric.
There was no mistaking him for a girl, no mistaking his mouth for anything other than that of another guy. And there was no way of missing when Andrews particularly liked the way he worked his lips, his tongue, and in turn no way Andrews could have missed Tommy's own, throbbing reaction when the older man bit and nipped at his lips.
When they pulled apart next, both were breathless. "I want to get you out of those clothes," Andrews murmured in Tommy's ear, a hand easing under his shirt, fingers strumming at the small of his back. "Come with me."
Tommy looked around, warily, as Andrews took his hand and led him out of the kitchen and its small groups of drinking, chatting men, and down a corridor. Nobody watched them go, though their intention couldn't exactly have been mysterious. Tommy wasn't sure whether to cringe at the thought of so obviously hooking up, or to revel in it.
They ended up in an anonymous bedroom, Andrews carefully shutting the door and then turning on the lamp on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the comforter, looked Tommy over where he stood in the middle of the room.
"Take off your clothes," he instructed. Tommy's hands were at the buttons of his shirt, moving on autopilot, before he stopped himself.
"You too," he replied. Andrews grinned back at him.
"Oh hell yeah."
Tommy could only watch - his own buttons momentarily forgotten - as Andrews pulled his polo shirt up, over his head. His torso was sleekly muscled, almost ridiculously perfect in its proportions. Then he stood, reached for the fly of his jeans, but paused as he popped them open.
"Expecting me to undress you?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. Tommy shook his head. He yanked his shirt off, and tugged off his t-shirt.
Andrews then stepped out of his jeans. His body tanned and golden in comparison to the crisp white of his briefs. The bold Diesel waistband hugged his narrow hips.
Tommy kicked off his own jeans, felt Andrews' eyes rake over his nearly-naked body. Sure, he'd seen him before - and been seen before - at practice, in tiny Speedos, but this was different, so much more charged. Just the two of them, and the knowledge that something was going to happen between them. Unless he stopped it.
And Tommy didn't want to stop it.
Stepping forward, Andrews closed the gap between them, until Tommy could feel the heat radiating off his body. Glancing down, he could see Andrews' cock jutting against the fabric, thick and swollen across his hip. His own dick was equally eager for attention.
"Last time you told me I had to be willing to play," he reminded the older youth. Andrews grinned, absentmindedly rubbed his hand across his bulge. Tommy wondered what it would be like to touch him in the same way; realized that he could, if he wanted to. That all he had to do was reach out.
"So are we going to play?" Andrews asked. He was gripping his cock now, fingers stretching the cotton around its length; with his other hand, he reached out and stroked across Tommy's shoulder, thumb straying into the hollow of his collarbone. Tommy dipped his head, let his cheek rest against the back of Andrews' hand.
"Yes."
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I've left you with a cliffhanger, I know. I had a choice of pausing there, and actually getting another part of the story online while it was a reasonable length, or of pushing on and potentially ending up not having something for you to read until after the holidays. Hope you think I made the right choice.
As ever, let me know what you think at alexp336@gmail.com and check out the filth at http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/
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