Phalen

Phalen - Reputation and Honor

Chapter Five

By Roy Reinikainen

Marty looked up at a slight rustling sound, cursing himself for being so jumpy, and for being alone in the locker room. He'd always thought of himself as a happy-go-lucky sort of person, always smiling. No longer. His parents and brothers had all commented on the change, but he'd laughed it off, telling them he was swamped with new responsibilities which he was taking seriously. Brad had cornered him as they left their parents' house. "C'mon, Marty," Brad had said, his normal impish smile absent. "Something other than new responsibilities is bothering you. You may be able to fool Mom and Dad and the brothers, but you can't fool me. We've always been close enough that I can read you. Is it a guy?"

Marty had bowed his head. He hated not confiding in Brad, but so far, nothing had really happened to justify talking to someone . . . especially Brad. His brother was the type of person he dreamt of finding as a lover. He was considerate, tender, and smart. He loved to laugh and tell jokes, though he'd had very few opportunities to do either, during his stormy relationship with Curt. Thankfully, they'd found a way out of their difficulties . . . Curt had realized how badly he had behaved, and, at the same time, saw Brad for the type of person he really is. He and Curt seemed devoted to one another now, though Curt did have to do a lot of traveling, since his promotion at the advertising agency.

"Yeah, it's a guy," Marty responded. "He's pressuring me, and I don't want to be pressured . . . not into sex . . . or anything. I don't want to wake up someplace and regret what I've done." He'd grinned crookedly at Brad. "That's all that's going on, Brad . . . really."

He felt badly that he hadn't trusted Brad with the entire truth. He was having trouble with a guy who was putting pressure on him. 'And how!' he thought. Coach Cline seemed to always be nearby . . . watching him. Marty half expected the coach to show up at his apartment and force his way in. 'I'm living in fear,' he thought. 'I jump at the slightest sound, and am always wondering what he's going to do next. He's not the type of guy to give up after only a couple tries.' Since his initial encounter with Coach Cline, Marty had done his best to always have someone nearby to act as a buffer, should the coach approach. That was difficult to do though, so he tried to stay away from the locker room as much as possible. That was even more difficult to accomplish. After all, his duties centered around the locker room.

Even Phalen and the guys he practiced with had commented on his change of mood. Each of them had, during the past couple weeks, asked what was going on, asking if they could help.

Phalen and Jeff had had him over for a barbecue, but he'd left early, sorry that he'd not been a better guest. "I'm sorry guys," he'd said, as he gave both Jeff and Phalen a parting hug. "I've just got a lot on my mind lately. The meal was great. I hope this whole thing'll be over soon, so," he grinned, "if you invite me back, I'll be in a better mood." Both Jeff and Phalen had assured him that they understood, but Phalen had watched him with an expression which made Marty feel as if his mind was being read. If it had been anything but sex the coach was asking for he most likely would have gladly accepted. But, sex was something else entirely.

He'd spent four years listening to how Brad dealt with the emotional pain caused by an unfaithful lover. Admittedly, this situation was different from the one experienced by Brad, but still. He would not let someone run his life using sex as a motivator. Curt had hurt Brad deeply enough that Marty was not sure his brother would ever truly heal. Brad'd been able to put a good face on the past, but it was still with him. Marty wondered what Brad thought of Curt's frequent business trips. They were a necessary part of Curt's job, but . . .

'Now,' Marty thought, 'Coach Cline is trying to manipulate me. I'm sure that he doesn't care if I'm hurt in the process, and,' he sighed, 'if it's difficult for Brad to heal, it's way worse for me. I've always been told that I'm too sensitive.' He snorted, 'Hell, my emotions run just beneath my skin. In one way, that's good. I easily laugh. But, I am easily affected by things around me . . . such as Coach Cline.'

Marty knew for a certainty that the coach was blowing smoke. 'He can't really get me onto the team,' Marty thought. Yet, in the back of his mind, hung the doubt. 'What if I do go to bed with him? Maybe, just maybe, I'm wrong, and he can get me on the team. Should I take a chance? If things get too intense, I can always walk away. He wouldn't hurt me . . . I don't think. He is an awfully big guy. And that dick! He wants to fuck me, and I don't think, no matter how much I relaxed that I could ever handle that. Hell, I've never handled anyone, not even Eric.

He turned at the knock on the door, his heart in his throat.

Randy Shaw stood at the door, not the Coach. "Hi, Marty," he said, wearing a crooked grin, apparently unsure of his welcome. "May I talk to you a moment?" He looked from left to right, scanning the empty locker room, then turned back to Marty, this time appearing chagrined. The change in Randy was dramatic. The cocky, hunky man, was gone. In his place stood a . . . diminished . . . person who moved slowly. He'd lost enough weight that his clothes hung from him. His dark good looks had faded to be replaced with dark circles beneath his eyes and a look of pain, which was present even when he tried to smile.

"Of course! Come in. Have a seat."

Randy looked at the proffered chair with loathing. "I'll stand, thanks. I won't be long, but I did want to stop by before I left."

"You're going someplace?" Marty moved closer to better hear his visitor.

Randy nodded his bowed head. "Coach Bowen has agreed to let me take a . . . leave of absence, I guess one would call it. The team, and everyone, is out on the field, so I figured I'd stop by now. There're fewer questions this way." Randy paused and looked away. When he looked back, he was looking at Marty through troubled eyes. "Before I leave though, I wanted to stop by and apologize for . . . how I treated you . . . the last time I saw you. My behavior was uncalled for. I'm sorry and . . . ashamed." He bowed his head. "Please, when I come back, may we be friends?"

"Of course! Thanks for coming by. I haven't seen you around and was beginning to wonder. D'you mind if I ask . . .?"

Randy held out a hand. "Yes, I mind. I'm not ready to talk about anything yet. I will . . . sometime, but just not . . . now. Okay? Thank you for your concern, though." He snorted a soft laugh. "I've not given you any reason to treat me well; yet . . . here you are." He smiled wanly. "Don't let yourself be hurt, Marty. I'm thinking that you're the too trusting type, and that type of person is easily hurt." He reached out and squeezed Marty's shoulder.

"Please, if you want to do something for me, I'd advise you to watch your back, and don't believe half of what you may hear, about me, or . . . anything. I'm not sick, as . . . someone . . . may tell you. I'm not recovering from drugs or anything. I'm just . . ." he shrugged, "recovering. I'll be okay." Randy took a halting breath. "I gotta go . . . before . . . anyone sees me." He extended his hand. "Apology accepted?"

Marty blinked. He couldn't believe the person standing before him was the same, cocky guy who swaggered instead of walked. "Yes! Yes, of course. Thank you." Marty reached out and squeezed Randy's shoulder, trying to ignore the slight flinch at the touch. "Take care of yourself, huh?" Randy nodded, beginning to turn away. "Randy," Marty interrupted. "Don't face whatever you're facing alone. Find someone to talk to. Promise me you'll do that." Randy gulped a convulsive swallow. "I already have, quite a few people, actually. But, thanks for your concern. Having apologized to you makes me feel better." He turned and slowly walked through the empty locker room, with his gym bag hung over his shoulder, adding its weight to whatever burden he was carrying.

Marty turned back to what he'd been doing before talking with Randy. When a hand rested on his shoulder, he jumped, adrenaline shooting throughout his body as he tried to swing away to distance himself from whomever. "Wha . . .?" he shouted, in a half crouch, already looking for a path to escape, his breathing labored.

"Easy," Phalen's smile was strained, as he did his best not to snatch his hand away. "Who were you expecting?" he asked, finally relaxing his arm, as Marty stood and tried to control his heaving chest.

"The devil, Phalen," Marty replied, on an exhaled breath, while reaching for a towel to wipe his suddenly-sweaty face. He was embarrassed by his reaction to Phalen's touch; at the same time he was fearful Phalen might ask questions he was unwilling to answer.

"Then, I'm not your man." Phalen's smile was worried. "A bunch of us are going out for a burger. I haven't seen you since you burst out of the locker room like a bat out of Hell, the other day."

"I . . . did what? When?"

"Marty . . ." Phalen hesitated. "Are you okay?"

Marty made an impatient gesture. "I burst out of the locker room? When?"

"A week or so ago . . . right after practice. You were steaming-mad at something, and when I greeted you, you told me to get out of your way. If I hadn't scrambled, I think you would have walked right over me." Phalen hitched a hip onto a table, idly swinging one leg. "Seriously, Marty . . . something's going on. I've never seen you act like you were then. Hell, I've never seen anyone look that angry. I mean, wow! It looked as if you were aching to tear something to shreds, then stomp around on top of the tatters, all the while screaming curses at the top of your lungs." He grinned. "Sorta literary, huh?" The comment got the smile Phalen was hoping for.

Marty massaged the back of his neck, bowing his head in renewed embarrassment. Not only had he acted like a fool today, but apparently had unknowingly acted the fool . . . on the day Coach Cline propositioned him. "Geez Phalen. I'm sorry." Phalen waved the apology aside.

"It's no problem. We all have our days. Yours was just a bad one, I'm guessing. Now," he slapped the palms of his hands on his bare legs. I came in to tell you that the guys and I are going out to dinner. We're hoping you'll join us. We're going to shower, then head out. Sorta like a team dinner-thing. You know . . . bonding and all that. Okay?"

Marty's eyes lit as the rush of adrenaline faded. "Yes!" He licked his lips. "Yes, I'd love to." He hesitated. "No, wait. I'm supposed to meet Eric for dinner. Would the guys mind if he came along? I can't break the date, but I don't want to miss getting together with the guys, either."

Phalen smiled. "Sure, invite him along. Was he supposed to meet you here?" At Marty's nod, Phalen grinned. "Eric?" he asked.

Marty blushed. "Yeah. M'brother introduced us. He's from Hawaii, my height, black hair, brown eyes, great smile and voice. He loves to tell jokes in that Hawaiian pidgin language-thing. When he does, I hardly understand him, but he usually explains. He's nice, Phalen. He's not putting any sort of pressure on me. We just hang out, n'stuff."

"He sounds wonderful. When you're talking about him, you look happy. It's nice to see the change. You've been sorta withdrawn. The guys were asking if everything's okay, or if they can help out, or anything. I'm the spokesperson, but all of us want to know if you're okay." Phalen studied the suddenly quiet man standing nearby. "You are okay, aren't you?"

Marty shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Just wrestling with temptation, is all." He looked up and grinned. "I never was very good, when it came to wrestling."

"Temptation, about Eric?"

Marty's eyes widened. "No . . . not him . . . something else. In the distance water, began splashing against ceramic tile, accompanying the inevitable sound of locker room roughhousing. "We'd better get going, or we'll miss dinner. Just a sec, let me get outta these clothes." He hurriedly stripped as Phalen silently looked on.

"You sure you don't want to talk?" Phalen asked. Marty shook his head.

"Nah, just jumpy is all."

"Any particular reason?" Phalen looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was nearby. "It always helps to talk, Marty. I'm worried about you. We're all worried."

Marty bit his lip, debating if he should say something, then decided against it. It wasn't like Coach Cline had actually touched him. Just the thought of being in the same room with that man, though, made Marty feel dirty.

"Let's shower. The guys'll use all the hot water if we don't get in there soon." Marty threw a towel over his shoulder, and he and Phalen walked, side-by-side, to join the rest of their special "team."

Walking into the steamy shower room made him feel as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders. He was surrounded by friends. Everyone treated him as an equal, calling out greetings as they went about taking their shower. Marty joined a couple guys, facing Phalen and the other "team" members, and slowly allowed himself to relax into the heat of the water and the camaraderie of a group of friends taking a shower. At one time in the past, the neighborhood guys might have stripped and enjoyed a swimming hole. Today, the gang shower had replaced the natural pool.

One by one, the guys finished their showers and left, until only Phalen and two other guys faced Marty. During the entire shower, Phalen had quietly studied him, and had smiled slightly when Marty had asked what was wrong, with a slight raising of his brow. Marty appreciated the concern, and once again wondered if he should say anything. 'But, really . . . what is there to tell?'

Before he'd completed the thought, his mouth went dry and an adrenaline rush made him want to run. Coach Cline had strode into the showers and was facing him. He began to soap-up, but not before catching Marty's eye, obscenely groping himself, then wagging his cock, as if in invitation.

"Marty?" someone said.

This time, the mere sound of a voice caused him to jump.

"Y'okay?" Bobby Pickett, one of the men with his back facing Coach Cline asked. "You've gone all pale. Maybe you need to get some food into you."

"Uh . . . yeah, right," Marty mumbled, hurriedly turning off the water and grabbing his towel. "I'll meet you outside." With that, he almost ran out of the shower room.

"I wonder what's gotten into him," Lyle Rollins, who was standing next to Phalen, asked. "He looks as if he's seen his long-dead grandmother, or something."

"He saw something . . . that's for sure." Phalen glanced over his shoulder, but the only other person in the showers was Coach Cline, and his back was turned, as a sudsy froth left a white trail down his back and between his cheeks, before dropping onto the floor of the shower.

"What am I doing?" Marty angrily asked himself, as he angrily tossed his wet towel into the half-full bin. 'Just seeing him scares me to death; yet, at the same time, I'm attracted to him. Why? Am I drawn to him because of what he's offered?' He snorted a laugh that was anything but amused. 'I couldn't possibly be drawn to him because he's got one of the sexiest bodies I've ever seen.' Marty paused, with his hand on the door to his locker, disgusted that the sight of the man had caused his cock to twitch and begin to thicken. 'Damn, but he's a sexy guy,' he thought. 'That dick of his should be declared a weapon of mass destruction, or something. It's friggin' huge!' The thought of being impaled on the thing, though, caused him to wince.

The knock on the door caused him to jump, then curse himself for jumping. He took a deep breath and turned. Eric was outside the office, looking through the window, and pointing to the locked door. After one look at Marty, Eric's smile faded. "Da lolo buggah? He bodda you?" he asked, trying his best not to glance over his shoulder, as Marty opened the door. Marty nodded, then returned to his locker to finish dressing, comforted by Eric's presence between him and the door.

"Hey, guys!"

Phalen couldn't help but notice that his voice caused both men to flinch. 'What is going on?' he asked himself.

"You must be Eric, Marty's friend," he said, wearing his brightest smile and extending his hand. "He told me you were good buddies. I'm Phalen."

"Hi."

Eric was all Marty had described, and more. Phalen's, "love the hair," comment caused Eric to smile, and Marty to chuckle.

"Befo' time I had real popolo kine hair, you know?" Eric said, acknowledging Marty's amused snort with a grin. Phalen hesitated, not sure how to respond. He cleared his throat.

"I mentioned to Marty, a bit ago, that the guys on our practice team are getting together for a burger. He told me that you guys had a dinner date, but I was wondering if you both could join us."

"Fo' shua, huh brah?" Eric turned to Marty, who was grinning at Phalen's frozen-smile expression of bewilderment.

"Scuse," Eric laughed. "I'm a tourist."

"From the moon," Marty laughed. Eric's infectious good humor relaxed him, as always.

"Eh', no make fun! From Hawaii. Live on top Oahu," Eric smiled, putting an arm around both Marty and Phalen's shoulders, looking from one to the other. "So, where are we going for dinner?"

"Um, ah," Phalen hesitated. "I don't ever remember being at a loss for words." Marty laughed, nudging Eric with his hip, as they and Phalen headed toward the exit.

Suddenly, the men on both side of Eric quieted, as if a light switch had been flipped off. On his right, he felt Marty tremble, whether in fear or suppressed anger, he had no way of knowing.

"I've been told I have that effect on people," Eric laughed in feigned lightheartedness, glancing toward the showers and a man, who could only be Coach Cline, the cause of both Phalen and Marty's sudden reaction. He dropped his hands from his friends' shoulders, and turned to the naked man who'd been watching him and his friends with ill concealed hatred, while soap suds puddled at his feet.

Eric stepped closer to the edge of the shower room, facing Coach Cline and raised his voice to be heard over the splashing water. "What . . . I owe you money, or what?" he shouted. Behind him, he heard Phalen attempt to conceal a surprised laugh. From Marty, he heard nothing, while, in front of him, the naked man's expression turned from a hateful glare to one of puzzlement.

Eric turned back to his two friends, winking in Phalen's direction, and replaced his arm over Marty's shoulders. "Let's hele on," he said, casually, urging Phalen and Marty to, 'get moving.'

C'mon, guys," Phalen laughed, as he turned away from the coach, hoping his voice didn't show his concern at what had just happened. No one so blatantly confronted Coach Cline . . . no one. The man didn't need a reputation to convince everyone on the baseball team that he was not to be messed with. The players just . . . knew. "The guys are waiting," Phalen finished, looking past Eric, to Marty. "I'm sure everyone will enjoy meeting your buddy from the moon."

"Oahu," Eric corrected, quickly, "though we got craters there, too."

Kerin sat in a chair resting his swollen arm on the exam table, waiting for the doctor to return. It hurt to even move his fingers. He couldn't imagine how long it was going to take until he could return to the gymnastics team.

Doctor Layson knocked once, then entered the room, with a comforting smile. He held up the envelope containing x-rays, which had been taken a short while ago ,and smiled more broadly. "Good news."

Kerin sank back in the chair in a posture of relief, the two words reigniting his sense of humor. "Great! I guess that means that I can still have sex." He ingenuously blinked, the corners of his lips turning up.

Doctor Layson sat on the rolling stool and scooted closer, reaching out to touch the swollen forearm and responded in a voice of clinical dispassion. "Thanks for the offer, Mister Johnston, but I'm already spoken for. You, however, will continue to be fully functional . . . if you can find someone who won't run away screaming after they see the things I'm about to do to you." Greg did his impersonation of an evil laugh, then winked, as Kerin watched him with mouth agape.

"Ooooh," Kerin grinned. "I like you."

Doctor Layson smiled. "Thanks. I like you, too, but I must ask, do you normally proposition people you don't like?"

"Ummm." Kerin searched the room, looking anyplace except the doctor.

"At a loss for words?"

"Yeah, I guess." Kerin smiled through a wince, as the doctor began to immobilize the wrist. "Normally, people don't have a comeback to something I say. That's why I said that I like you. You're a quick thinker." The two men looked up at the hesitant knock on the door.

"Come."

"My favorite word," Kerin murmured in an undertone, as the door opened, and Thian stuck his head into the room.

Doctor Layson's brows rose. "Hmm. Twins."

"I told you you were a fast thinker, Doctor. Meet my brother, Thian." Kerin motioned him into the room with his good hand.

"Has he been giving you trouble, Doctor?" Thian asked, moving to a position where he could rest his hands on his brother's shoulders. As Doctor Layson watched, Thian began to gently knead the muscles of his twin's shoulders. Kerin sighed, leaning into his brother.

The doctor shook his head and returned to immobilizing the wrist. "No, no trouble I can't handle. In the last couple minutes, he told me he liked me, then propositioned me, and told me that the word 'come' is his favorite word." He shrugged, not meeting either of the twins' expressions. "Pretty normal patient/doctor interview, if you ask me."

"He's great, isn't he, T?" Kerin asked, looking over his shoulder.

"I'll say. I've never heard anyone pick apart one of your conversations with so little effort. Did they teach you to do that in medical school?"

Doctor Layson scooted the stool back and patted the exam table, inviting Thian to sit at his brother's side. "Actually, no. I learned some of what I just used, to try to curb my brother's partner. He's much like you, Kerin."

"Your brother's partner?"

"Yes, you may know him; he's on the baseball team."

"Phalen!" the twins said, in chorus. "We've known him for a couple years!"

"Not in the biblical sense, you understand," Kerin interjected, flexing his fingers. "So you're Jeff's brother?"

"Yep, in the biblical sense."

Kerin gave the doctor a strange look. "How long until I can do a handstand?"

Doctor Layson laughed. "Now that is something no one has ever asked me. The answer is, it depends. It'll take some time. Nothing's broken, but . . ." He hesitated, "don't use it, not even to masturbate, until I give you the go ahead, and even then, you'll have a limited range of motion for a couple months. I'm not going to put a cast on it, but I will if I find you're not following doctor's orders.

"No competing, then?"

The doctor shook his head.

"What about sex?"

"What about it?"

"When can T and I . . . do it?"

"I'd say right now, but I'm afraid you'd take me at my word. Wait until the two of you get home. You better do it, though, before you take any of the pain medication I'll be prescribing. Otherwise, someone's going to be frustrated." He grinned with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I won't tell you which one."

"Yeow!" Marty Kelly shouted, landing on his back on the carpeted floor, his brother, Brad, sprawled on top of him. "Hey," he laughed, out of breath. "I'm your brother, not some guy you casually toss over your shoulder, to have your way with. You always did like to show off your muscles!"

Marty shrieked and tried to squirm away from his brother's attempts to tickle him. "Watch it, Brad," he complained. "We're gonna get carpet burns, wrestling around like this."

"You would rather wrestle on a bed, I assume," Brad laughed, lunging to where Marty had been a moment earlier, only to land flat on his stomach, as Marty scrambled out of reach.

"I'm not gonna go to bed with my brother, sicko. I might catch something to make my dick get all skinny, or shrink away to nothingness, or something." He, made a sucking sound, presumably the sound of one's dick shriveling, then laughed harder, imagining the scene. "Then, I'd be about as small as you!" he crowed. "Doesn't Curt get tired of having to search for your thing? I mean, really!"

Brad lunged again, both men landing in a laughing, breathless heap.

"It's a good thing you're not a top," Marty continued. "Curt would never be able to feel it!"

"I choose not to talk about the size of my dick," Brad said, in a proper British high class accent.

Marty snorted. "If I were you, I wouldn't either." He fended off a playful scowl with a laugh. "I remember how big it is. Don't forget, you let me measure it!"

Brad looked toward the ceiling in exasperation. "I was friggin' ten years old when we did that! I've grown some since."

"I would hope so." Marty rolled onto his back in paroxysms of laughter. When he glanced up and saw Brad's expression, his laughter renewed and intensified.

"Wanna measure it again?" Brad asked. "Just to prove it?"

"Yeek!" Marty screeched, covering his eyes. "My big brother is intent on showing me his wanger. What would Mom and Dad say?" He shook his hands in his brother's direction. "Keep that thing hidden. I'll stop making jokes. Besides," he tried to control his laughter, "I'm getting all teary-eyed, I'm laughing so hard." He wiped his hands across his eyes and sat up, trying to school his mouth to seriousness.

"I'm going to change the subject," Brad warned.

"Good!" Marty snickered, then raised his brows, hoping to appear attentive.

"How do you like being a trainer? I remember Dad always saying he thinks trainers are one of the most important people on a baseball team. 'They keep people taped together,' he always laughs."

Marty's smile faltered.

"Yeah, being a trainer is good. I do use a lot of tape, so Dad' right."

Brad made no move to stop his brother from rolling away from his grasp. A moment later, Marty was sitting with his back against the glass of the apartment's balcony sliding doors, looking glum. In the distance, the top of a palm rustled in the slight breeze, and Brad fancied he could hear a motorboat tugging a waterskier across the waters of Tempe Lake, through the open balcony doors.

"Marty?" Brad said, bothered by his always-laughing youngest brother's sudden change of mood.

"Yeah?" Marty grumbled, not meeting his brother's eyes, as he absently tugged at a strand of carpet yarn.

"You okay? If I said something wrong, I apologize. Let me know what I did to bother you, and I'll make sure not to do it again." The grim line of Marty's mouth twisted into a crooked smile. He pushed against his older brother's leg with a stocking-clad foot.

"You didn't do anything wrong. Really," he added, at Brad's skeptical look. "It's just . . . things are happening."

Brad scooted closer to his younger brother. "Things? Care to tell me about these . . . things? Does your sudden change of mood mean that there's something that's not right between you and Eric? He scooted close enough to his brother that their knees were touching.

"Naw, Eric is wonderful. He's cool. Sorta undemanding. I like that . . . undemanding, and he has nothing to do with . . . anything." Marty's mouth twisted into a crooked grin as he shrugged. "It feels good . . . when he holds me, n'stuff, y'know?"

"Are you serious about him?" Brad pressed. "You are serious, aren't you?"

Marty shrugged, met his brother's eyes, then nodded once. "I don't know . . . really. I think so. I mean, it's not like I have boat loads of experience." Marty hesitated. "It's just . . ."

"What have you guys done? Did it go okay? Is that why you're suddenly acting all weird?"

"Why do you need to know? Being a voyeur, or something?"

Brad playfully nudged his brother, and smiled. "Some, but I'm wondering if you've thought about things. I'm waiting."

"Well . . ." Marty drug the word out. "We've gone on a couple dates. We've even had dinner with the guys I practice with. He had all them laughing. The other night, we had some ice cream and sat out by the lake and talked."

"Marty." Brad paused, looking up at his brother. "Truth?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because I love you."

Marty flung up his arms, scrambled to his feet, and walked across the room, where he pivoted on his heels to face his older brother. "Damnit, Brad! That's not playing fair! Now I have to tell you the truth." Marty plopped down on a dining room chair and crossed his arms, trying to look stubborn. A moment later, he prodded his brother with his foot.

"I would have anyway. I'm not a good liar. It's easier in the long run to tell the truth. That way, you don't have to remember what you said. Still . . ." He groused, I don't have to like it. So, ask me something I can answer with a yes or no. Okay?"

"Marty, if things are really okay between you guys, why are you so bummed?" When Marty didn't answer, Brad continued, speaking in a low voice. "Who's making demands on you, Marty? Who's causing my laughing little brother to get wound up like a spring? If it's not Eric, who is it? Someone's playing with your mind, making demands, aren't they?"

Brad patted the floor, inviting his brother to sit. Marty frowned, but crossed to his brother and sat, crossing his legs. He briefly glanced at his brother through lowered eyelids, doing his best to be irritated with Brad for making him do what he had wanted to do for weeks . . . talk about what was going on with Coach Cline.

"Marty, I really do love you. If I can help, even by just listening, I will. If you want me to go break someone's nose, I'll . . . think about it first, but I most likely would at least try, unless the guy's a whole lot bigger'n me." He grinned, responding to Marty's snort of amusement. "C'mon Marty, tell me. You'll feel better."

"Would you hold me, Brad?" Marty asked, sounding for all the world like he did when he was six years old. "I'm needing to know that I'm not going crazy. Eric tells me I'm not, but I'm not so sure."

"That bad?" Brad murmured, scooting to sit next to his younger brother. He wrapped an arm over his shoulder and held him close, waiting patiently for the trembling to ease.

"It's the assistant head coach," Marty mumbled, not looking at his brother. "He's making promises to get me on the team n'stuff. All I have to do is let him . . . fuck me."

Brad suddenly felt . . . hollow . . . inside. Some bastard was after his little brother. He'd joked about breaking someone's nose. He found that he was instantly angry enough to try. "You haven't, have you?"

"No, but he won't accept no for an answer. He shows up out of the blue, like when I was showering with some of the guys, or when I was making a presentation in one of my training classes. He seems to be watching me all the time. I'm sorta afraid to even go into the locker room now, for fear he'll corner me. He's big, Brad. Big and strong. I'm just a little guy compared with him. If he wanted to . . . to rape me, he could. There'd be nothing I could do to stop it. Still, I think, that if he could get me onto the team, how bad would it be to have sex with him once?

"Even while I'm thinking that, I'm thinking that he can't possibly be like Eric. I mean, he's so tender and loving. We've never done anything really serious, or anything . . . no fucking or stuff. It's okay with him if we just sit and hold hands while we're watching TV, or something. He makes me laugh. I want to be with him, and I think he wants to be with me. What I feel about him I could never feel about the coach. He's an evil man, Brad. There's something dangerous about him. Still, like I say, he's promising me the thing I've always wanted most."

"Is he actually promising, Marty, or is that wishful thinking on your part? Could it be that he's only hinting that he might be able to get you on the team? Do you think he really has the power to do what he's suggesting?"

Marty rubbed his eyes, which were threatening to overflow. "I don't know. He really is sexy, and damn it, Brad, I've been practicing with the guys. I know I'm good enough to be on the team. All of them even say I am. Maybe the coach can do something to sway someone's mind, to at least give me a chance."

Brad tightened his embrace. "I know you're good enough to be on the team, too, Marty, but . . . is this the way to do it? What does your conscience tell you?"

Marty grew quiet and tried to cuddle closer to his older brother. "I don't know, Brad." He took a shuddering breath. "I just don''t know . . ."

The twins lay at one another's side in the bed they'd shared since they were children. While they were young, their father had finally thrown up his hands in surrender, after trying for months to have the two boys sleep in their own beds. Each morning, he'd find the twins wrapped in one another's arms, soundly sleeping.

School had been a real challenge. The first time they were not in the same room, they'd raised such a scene, both at home and at school, that everyone involved had given in. When they were together, they were outstanding students, always polite, always laughing, pleased to be the center of attention. When they were separated, for any reason, each would become quiet and withdrawn. Their emotions were strained to the point they would either shout and storm about the house, or burst into unconsolable tears.

It had been no surprise to their father that they'd both chosen to attend the same university, even though they'd been offered scholarships at a number of different institutions. Since entering school, they had made no effort to hide the fact that they were gay, and in love with one another. For the most part, they had been accepted, both by their coaches, their team mates, and the local media. During a couple of the first competitions in their freshman school year, there'd been some tittering, which the boys had ignored. The tittering and snide jokes told by some had disappeared after their first competition, and the crowd had seen what outstanding athletes they were.

After his brother's injury was tended to, Thian had escorted Kerin back to the gymnastics locker room to visit with the rest of the guys, and let them know what the doctor had said about him returning to the team. The guys had crowded around Kerin, one of the most popular men on the team, and listened to him. Then each had wished him luck, parting with a pat on the shoulder, or a brief, self-conscious, hug. Thian could tell how much the display of support had moved his brother. When Kerin wasn't joking, he was working to keep his emotions in check. If asked, people would have said that Thian was the more sensitive of the two. That wasn't the case. Kerin was, by far.

"I swear, K, you about scared the living daylights out of me, seeing you lying on the mat like you were. Thian gently pulled his brother into an embrace, careful to keep Kerin's immobilizing wrist and arm wrapping out of the warm shower spray. Feeling both the warmth and strength of his brother in his arms, eased his anxiety.

"M'love you, T," Kerin murmured, licking over Thian's neck, then nibbling on an earlobe, before his lips and tongue found his brother's for a long kiss, which left both men breathless . . . and stiff. "You take good care of me."

Thian swallowed, surprised at how . . . helpless . . . his brother seemed. "Promise me you'll never do that sort of thing again." There was a long pause, while Thian tightened his embrace. "I . . . I don't know what I'd ever do without you, K. Losing you would be like losing my leg or something," he said, with a catch in his voice. "I'd be able to get around, but I'd never be whole again."

Kerin ran his free hand over his brother's back and down to the swell of his buttocks. "I'll do my best, T. This accident wasn't actually planned," he murmured, and kissed Thian's neck, aware that Thian was about to speak. "Trust me, T, I'm not trying to be funny or anything. I feel the same way about you."

The two men lapsed into a silence broken only by slight moans of pleasure, as Thian scrubbed his brother, then rinsed the soap away and dried him. Thian grinned, looking up at his brother from where he knelt, the towel in his hands forgotten. "Would you like me to do something about this thing which seems to be poking me in the face?" he asked, as he turned his face from side to side, allowing Kerin's erection to drag from one side of his face to the other.

"If y'don't already know the answer to that one," Kerin joked, thrusting his hips forward, and mashing his erection against his brother's face, "then you're not my brother, but some guy wearing a disguise." He backed up slightly and dragged his cock head across Thian's face; this time, leaving behind a shiny trail of pre-cum. "Now," he pushed his penis against Thian's mouth, forcing it inside. "Prove to me you're my brother."

Kerin caught sight of himself, and Thian kneeling in front of him in the mirror-covered bedroom closet doors. He'd been asked from time-to-time if having sex with his twin wasn't over-the-top narcissism. He'd smiled. "When I look at Thian, whether we're having sex, practicing, or having breakfast . . . whatever, I don't see a copy of me, I see my brother. It doesn't even dawn on me that we look alike, until I catch a glimpse of both of us in a mirror or something. Then," he'd grinned, feeling the heat in his face, knowing Thian was listening, "it's sorta exciting."

Seeing their reflection now, brought home to him that they were indeed twins. Even though Thian was kneeling with his back to the mirror, it was clear that they were identical; from their sun-bleached hair to their broad shoulders, to their muscular arms, and narrow waists. The skin of Thian's pale white ass cheeks shone in contrast to his tanned back, while the muscles of his thighs stood out as they flexed.

Kerin grinned, as he compared his brother's untanned buttocks with his own untanned groin, and felt a jolt of pleasure at the sight shooting through him, at the same instant Thian's tongue began to work its magic on his cock. "Ah, geeeez," he sighed, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, holding onto his brother's shoulder with his free hand for balance. 'I've had, what . . . three other guys suck me off in my life,' he thought to himself, 'and absolutely no one does it like T.'

Thian grasped his brother's buttocks and squeezed, a moment before Kerin trembled and began shooting. Thian told himself that he knew exactly what his brother was experiencing. After all, they were the same in every way. He knew how good it felt to be shooting a load into his brother's mouth. It was nothing like the couple of other guys who had sucked a load from him. Nothing at all.

Ever since the first time they'd watched one another masturbate, and had, immediately after shooting, licked the other clean, Kerin had been the only man he'd ever seriously considered spending the rest of his life with. When he'd seen Kerin lying unconscious on the mat earlier in the day, he'd very nearly panicked. Sure, they'd both been injured before. Being a gymnast meant enduring injuries. But, neither of them had ever been knocked unconscious. When he knelt at his brother's side, Kerin had seemed so young so . . . vulnerable.

"Holy fuck, T," Kerin sighed, loosening his grip on his brother's shoulders. "That was sweet . . . way better than awesome." The two men tenderly kissed, as Thian stood and embraced his brother.

"I love you, Thian," Kerin murmured, running his fingers through his brother's hair. "You're so good to me."

Doctor Layson stood and extended a hand to Randy Shaw. "It's wonderful to see you looking so good, Randy!" He gestured to a seat.

"Thanks, Doctor." Randy scooted the chair closer to the doctor's desk, and gingerly lowered himself onto it. Even though it had been weeks since his last encounter with Coach Cline, he still did not feel that he had healed completely. "I'm here for a couple reasons, actually." He moistened his lips. "First of all, I want to thank you for being there for me when I really needed it, and for recommending that counselor to me. We're getting along fine. He tells me he thinks I'm making progress; not only about what happened, but with how I was . . . before. I wasn't really very nice, y'know. It's almost as if I got what I deserved."

Greg held up a hand. "Let's stop that line of thinking right there, Randy. No one. . . I mean no one, deserves what you went through. In the past, I've heard you referred to as a, 'cocky show-off,' but being cocky is not a crime, nor is being a show-off. What happened to you is! You did not deserve what happened to you; even if, in the beginning, you had agreed to sex, you did not agree to be a sadist's plaything." Randy huffed a laugh of agreement.

"You're right, of course," Randy said, trying not to hunch his shoulders, but sit up straight as Dr. Johnston was always urging. "I think I've learned a lot of lessons during this whole thing." His voice trailed off. "A lot."

Randy heaved a breath, preparing to continue. "I'm ready to tell you who did that stuff to me, but I have to get you to promise not to do anything, yet. I am . . . doing something, so please . . . don't you."

"Randy, what that man did you was criminal. I couldn't in good conscience let him possibly do the same thing to someone else. Otherwise, if I know who did this, it would be my duty to report him, both as a doctor and as a . . . a person. So, think about what you're planning on saying. I don't like that this . . . person . . . is still out there, possibly preying on someone else . . ." Randy held up a hand.

"I'm speaking with the . . . people who need to know about him. What I'm wanting, by telling you, is to let just one more person know, in case . . ." he swallowed, "in case he finds out what I've been doing, and something . . . happens to me." He took a stuttering breath. "There, I've said it. Just me being in this office is frightening for me."

"Why?" Greg's eyes widened. "You mean . . . someone close by abused you? Someone who had authority over you? In the athletic department?"

Greg sat back, feeling as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. 'A coach did this. A coach!'

"I have to ask this." He moistened his lips. "It wasn't the head coach was it? Coach Bowen? No explanation, just yes or no."

"No."

Greg sighed in relief.

"What I'm afraid of, doctor, is that he'll try what he did to me with someone else. I don't know that he has or will, but when he was . . . with . . . me, he referred to other guys who he, 'broke.' I don't know how many, or who they were. He never said. I'd just like you to be aware, so you can keep your eyes open, and to speak out, like I say . . . if necessary. Can I sign something, or do something, that would allow you to use whatever charts or stuff you made about me should you need to? Something like a release? Like I said, I'm speaking with the police, and your partner, and of course, the counselor, but I've not told anyone who it is . . . yet. I don't want to, until all the pieces are in place, and I'm ready."

"For what?" Greg asked.

"I want to see his face when he's brought down. I want to see his face when all the things he did to me, and possibly to other guys, are made public. He sneered at me, telling me that I should have considered all of the possibilities before agreeing to have sex with him. I want to see his face when he realizes that he never considered all of the ramifications of abusing me! My fondest wish is to see that he is put someplace where he will be at someone else's mercy. Doctor," Randy Shaw said, in a voice thick with passion, "I want to see him brought down. I want to see him cry. I want to hear him beg. Otherwise, I want revenge."

~ to be continued ~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send a pic of the character(s), please ask. roynm@mac.com