Taste of Power

Taste of Power by: Krazytop ---

Part VIII

I try to force it out of my mind.

The way Zane left me.

Nothing to wear but Zane's sweat-stained, piss-soaked, ass-rag, cum-drenched jock strap. He kept my trusty raincoat for himself, leaving me on another humiliating romp through the forest.

"How are you?" Calvin asks, bumping me. "Coach says we are supposed to get on the bus first."

I shake the thoughts away.

We ascend the dusty steps. I think Coach figures it will be less awkward for me if the bus is still empty when we board. I bustle into the row of seats right behind the bus driver, and Calvin follows tentatively. I try to look forward, to avoid making eye contact with anyone. They aren't worth it.

A minute later something glints and catches my eye and I look over in spite of myself.

It's an earring. Half-silver, half quartz, in a yin-yang. It's something of a trademark of Zane's, actually. Coach forbids him from wearing it during wrestling practice, and Mr. Andrews likes to give him a dress code violation if he catches Zane wearing it, but I guess none of that is stopping Zane.

It's the weekend and there is no practice today, so all bets are off—the earring is back.

It glitters, seeming to match the twinkle in his eye. Zane bares a half-smile; I can't tell whether he is acknowledging me or not.

He walks past, and I exhale. Soon enough, everyone is on the bus, and I convince myself to unclench my sweaty palms.

Part of me hates Zane—and part of me doesn't.

The hydraulic system squeaks as the bust takes off. I don't know if I can take hours of this, of being cloistered with my team on the bus as we head to the Storm Meet.

Chris's parents rented a hallway for us at the hotel, and since Calvin and I are Junior Varsity wrestlers in adjacent weight classes, we get to share a room. It's something of a relief.

Getting away from home—not having to spend the night with either Chris or Zane—maybe the change of pace will refresh me.

"You asked me how I was, didn't you?" I say, blinking and looking at Calvin finally.

Calvin looks down and lets out a breath of air, shaking his head slightly and laughing. "I know you are going through a lot. I just don't believe...that you have to be so protective all the time."

"Yes I do. It's all I have going for me."

I gaze into his dancing blue eyes—and I fear he can sense my weakness. For whatever reason, I feel myself soften toward him. I don't have the energy to hide. Not anymore.

"I don't believe you, Travis. Remember how you always had the best mokimon decks? You are a fighter."

I roll my eyes. "So I was good at something when I was nine."

"Well, when you wrote during history class. Got sent to the office. You said what a lot of people should have been thinking, but didn't have the brains or guts to come up with. And when Chris wrote that note calling you a bitch, and stole your phone—you stood up to him and got it back. You could have just given up, but instead you held your ground and kept your dignity and let him know that he can't treat people like that."

My mouth falls open slightly. I chuckle. "I may seem like I stand up for myself, Calvin. Like I stand up for what I believe in. But it happens in little pulses of defiance. Most of the time I am ready to give up."

Calvin reaches his hand out slowly and rubs my hair. "Things just aren't as gloomy as you make them out to be. Right now, in this moment, the whole weight of the world is on your shoulders. And sooner or later you will realize that it is okay to make mistakes and take some risks. You don't have to work to get everyone to like you—especially if they dislike you for stupid reasons. It's a good thing to be thoughtful and say what you think, as long as you are diplomatic about it, which you usually are."

"Everyone thinks I am worthless," I say softly.

"That's not true," Calvin says.

"I know that you are only being nice to me because Coach told you to," I say. "You can drop the whole `best friend' charade. You've been dropping it for years."

"Travis—"

When Calvin says my name, I hear it echo at the back of the bus.

Sometimes when I hear my name, or sense people are talking about me, I hone in on a conversation on the other side of the room, and it steals my attention away.

My ears prickle as the voice seems to grow louder.

"The cundango grabbed my balls, man. How am I supposed to wrestle when he's all over my junk?"

I turn red, my composure slipping again.

"Is Eduardo here?" I whisper.

"Yeah," Calvin said. "You know he's been losing weight slowly for a while now. Tired of being the odd man out in the weight class, I guess. After the debacle with you, he challenged Hiro for his spot in your old weight class, and bumped Hiro back down to JV."

I shrug. "At least that means I won't have to wrestle him anymore."

"Yeah, it was kind of ugly really. He ended up elbowing Hiro in the balls, but it looked like it might have been an accident."

"Do you think it was an accident?"

"I think he learned how to be sneakier about cheating. He thinks he learned that from you. Ambiguity and injustice can be partners in crime, it seems."

I look down.

On one hand, I feel out of the loop. I don't know what is going on with Hiro at all. We basically never talk anymore. When Calvin and I grew apart, Hiro had sort of filled the void. Now I feel that the gulf between me and everyone else is the defining feature of my life. There is no one really at my side anymore, unless for whatever reason I should start counting Calvin again.

On the other hand, I am sort of getting used to being an outcast. I don't want to make it sound like I am Zane's protégé—I honestly don't know how to feel about him anymore.

In some ways I'm even a little scared of him. He's just a teenager like me, and yet, there's something about him that I can't quite place, and it worries me.

"Want to play car games?" Calvin asks abruptly.

"Not really," I say, rubbing my temple.

"No seriously, it will be like old times," Calvin says.

"Fine."

We each start with five fingers.

"Never have I ever—snuck into a second movie at a move theater when only purchasing one ticket," Calvin says.

I roll my eyes. Something about Calvin's attitude is contagious.

I try to block Zane out of my mind. Zane is dangerous. He's a Venus fly trap, and the way he invades my thoughts is both his nectar and his bait.

Calvin is a tether to my sanity, at least for now.

I fold my thumb down so I only have four fingers.

When Calvin says "never have I ever," he follows that phrase describing something he's never done. In this case, since I did sneak into a second movie without a buying another ticket—I fold a finger down. Play moves back and forth till a player folds down all five of their fingers.

"You know my dad coerced me to do that," I say. "He's a cheapskate."

"You sound like Zane," Calvin says, smirking. "I guess you approve of everything Zane does?"

"Maybe not everything," I say. I wrack my brain before making my next move. "Never have I ever—drank alcohol."

"Are you kidding?" Calvin says, folding his thumb over. "How does a muscle jock like you avoid all the parties?"

I blush. "I just don't go to those kind of parties, y'know? I think I read that over a third of Americans don't drink in high school. It depends on your social circles. Hiro and I never wanted to drink, so we didn't."

"I bet you would drink if people put enough pressure on you."

"You are probably right. Although that doesn't really support your claim that I hold my ground."

"You only hold your ground when it is important," Calvin says. "Otherwise you can be kind of a softy. Let's see," he says, staring at the seat in front of him. "Never have I ever—left the country."

"Me neither," I say, keeping my four fingers up. "Never have I ever left the state."

"Geez, that's sad, dude." He flips another finger down. "Never have I ever been in a car accident."

"That old lady rear-ended me." I pull down my pointer finger and turn red.

Somehow—despite everything—I feel my melancholy energy fading.

I remember how Calvin and I used to curl up across from one another with our trusty mokimon decks, ready to battle. He would pour out the contents of this little red and white backpack, and these damage counter beads and thick metal coins would fly everywhere.

"Never have I ever eaten pheasant."

"So my uncle hunts, sue me," Calvin says. He goes down to two fingers. "Never have I ever—peed my pants."

I roll my eyes. "Oh my god that was first grade!" I say. We are both at two fingers.

I smirk. "Never have I ever—stolen anything."

Calvin leaves both fingers up.

"Oh my god that is so not true! You have to remember stealing my Ditzo mokimon card."

"You traded it to me," Calvin says, scratching his face.

"My ass I traded it to you," I say, chuckling. "You big fat freaking stole it. Get your finger down." I grab his finger and try to fold it down for him.

"No," Calvin says, his laughter echoing. He tries to wriggle out of my grasp and soon we are wrestling around.

He sees the light in my eyes and pauses. I let go of him.

"Sorry," I whisper, looking down. "I—I—don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's okay, Travis," he says, wringing my hands. I look away.

Calvin puts his hand on my cheek and folds his finger down. He's down to one. "Never have I ever—kissed anyone."

"You mean on the lips or elsewhere?" I ask.

"On the lips," Calvin says.

I keep my two fingers up.

"Wait a minute," Calvin says, "does that mean you've kissed someone—somewhere else?"

"One question per turn," I say, my heartbeat going wild again. "Never have I ever lost my virginity."

Calvin rolls his eyes. "What you think I go around screwing people without kissing them?" He snorts. He puts his lip up to my ear and starts to whisper. "Never have I ever kissed someone on their body somewhere besides their lips."

My breathing grows uneven and flip down to my last finger.

"Never have I ever—" I croak, "felt completely free."

Calvin keeps his last finger up. "Me neither, Travis..." He laughs. "I'm going to get you this turn. What question can I ask to finish you off? Never have I ever...got punched in the face at wrestling practice."

I ball my hand into a fist, and Calvin pumps his arm triumphantly. "Yeah, I got you."

I roll my eyes. "This game doesn't work so well when you already know so much about me."

Calvin pulls his bag out from under the seat and digs for a pencil.

"How about a game with more mystery, then? Hang-man?"

My eyes flash. "Calvin—that's my pencil! I've been looking for that."

"No it isn't," Calvin says, frowning.

"Yes it is! It even has those little grooves where I chew on the little plastic thing."

"Those could be anyone's tooth grooves," Calvin says.

"Give that back," I say reaching over. Suddenly we are laughing and wrestling again; Calvin eventually gets a hold of the back of my head and forces me down; I'm bent over his lap; I try to wriggle away; Calvin bucks; my face is in his crotch. It feels warm against my lips.

I jerk away.

Calvin's mouth falls open again.

We don't talk much for the rest of the ride.

When we get to the hotel a bellhop takes our stuff to our rooms.

"Dinner on the Valdeo's!" Coach booms. He bobs his head toward the adjacent restaurant, and Calvin and I exchange glances. Even the doors to the place look fancy—wide, beset by wood carvings.

Inside, there is a crystal fountain, a glass dome ceiling, a gemstone chandelier, ruby and emerald-colored carpets, and dim, flickering candle-light.

But what catches my attention is the buffet.

Roasted chicken, baked till golden brown, covered in thinly sliced lemons and spices; creamy, buttery mashed potatoes, with a side of molten gravy; tender steak in a bed of kale; peas, with a hint of salt and sugar; fresh berries and pear slices, with a side of honey almonds and greek yogurt; a spinach salad with feta cheese and black olives; hot, cracked bread rolls that were greasy on the outside and soft on the inside; and chilled, silky pumpkin cheesecake on a soft graham-cracker crust.

Coach gave everyone little slips saying exactly what they were to put on their plate. Most people are assigned modest meals—but not me, since I am still trying to build six pounds of muscle. Chris and Calvin are also given larger portions, since Coach wouldn't mind if they moved up in weight either.

Calvin and I get more than a few jealous glares as we load up our plates.

"This cheesecake is exquisite," I whisper in Calvin's ear.

He shakes his head at me, his eyebrows raised high. "Someone is going to kill you, y' know. You thought being gay was trouble. But that's nothing compared to eating your heart out in front of a wrestling squad."

Hiro sits on my other side, and we nod at one another. I can sense the ice breaking--bit by bit--as we eat.

"Hey, listen," Hiro says. "A bunch of guys are going to head to the pool right after dinner. You guys should come."

"No I shouldn't," I say.

"Most of the guys are over the drama," Calvin interjected. "Eduardo should have been able to beat you cleanly, and people sense that his sudden move to take on Hiro was his way of fleeing defeat. You've been getting better, Travis. Stronger. People see that you've been channeling your hardship—and they are on the verge of respecting you for it. Plus, Coach will kill people if they are assholes to you."

"I don't know," I say.

"Look, Travis, you will never feel like you belong if you don't even try."

I sigh.

When we finish dinner, Calvin basically pulls me with him to the pool, and I don't fight it.

Most of the other guys run past us, hooting and whipping each other with towels they got from the front desk.

They are in a rush since the pool closes in half an hour.

"Aren't the swimsuits up with the luggage?"

"I think they are just going to strip down to their boxers," Hiro says.

I shouldn't be nervous. I've seen most of them in their boxers. I've avoided being in showers with the others like the plague, and still, I know what Zane and Chris look like naked.

And yet...

"I really just want to go to the room," I say.

"Oh, shut up," Calvin says, thumping my back.

We reach the pool, and I take a deep breath, looking everything over.

There are a dozen or so boxer-clad jocks horsing around in the pool, fleeing from a closed-eyed Zane, who I'm afraid to stare at for more than a moment. The water makes their muscles glimmer as they splash about, and laughter echoes between the walls.

"Marco," Zane yells.

Most of the others chant back, "Polo."

"Fish out of water?" Zane says.

Chris wrinkles his mouth. "I think you caught a couple of fish."

Zane opens his eyes. "Get into the water boys," he says, the light in his sharp eyes dancing. "We don't bite."

I breathe in again, and the three of us jump in together, ignoring the looks.

Cool crystalline liquid slices everywhere. There is a loud, disorienting splash and I feel the water collapsing in. Then, it fans out in warping ripples.

"Since you all were out of water together, I get to choose who will be `it' next," Zane says. "And I think I will choose—Calvin."

Calvin rolls his eyes and dives underwater, his hand raised as he counts off toward the next game.

Zane paddles over toward me. His breath finds my ear. "See? And you say I am never nice to you."

I shudder away from him.

Calvin breaches the water and calls out.

"Marco."

"Polo," I say, echoed by a dozen others.

He seeks me out.

"Marco," he says again.

"Polo."

He's getting closer. I take a deep breath, ready to submerge myself under water and swim away—but then a strong arm wraps around me, pulling me back into a rough and muscular chest.

"Where are you going?" Zane whispers in my ear.

"Zane," I whimper. I try to wriggle away; I feel his half-hard cock digging at my flexing ass; I can't get out of his strong grip; his big biceps pin me against his sweltering chest.

Calvin's outstretched hand closes around my face.

"I think you got him," Zane growls. I turn my head toward him.

The light in his eyes glints.

Some of the others laugh; others exchange glances. Chris looks away.

The tension is snapped by a hotel worker, who looks at his feet, clearing his throat, before speaking quickly.

"The pool is closed now, guys. And also, please follow the dress code specified in the pool rules for all future conduct. Thank you and have a good night." I think he might have been scared of us, because he turned to leave before we could even respond.

The guys mutter for a while but eventually we get out of the pool one by one. Sharing the towels is a mess, but Calvin makes sure I get one after a while.

When we reach our floor, I see our names are written on the post-its stuck to the hotel room doors, and Coach is waiting in the hallway, sitting in a plastic chair he must have grabbed from a Conference Room.

"I see the rest of you finally made it," he growls, folding his hands behind his back. "Your names are on your door."

I see a door marked `Chris and Calvin' and I figure there must be a mistake.

When I see the `Zane and Travis' door, I turn to find Coach at the end of the hall.

"Coach, there is a mix-up. I am supposed to be with Calvin, not Zane—"

"Look Travis, I didn't want to announce it in front of everyone, but you know you are a special case. I had to take into account the comfort level of your peers. I took Calvin, Chris, and Zane into my office this week in private and asked them how they felt about having you on the team. Chris looked me dead in the eye and said he is sick of being in the same room as you."

"But Calvin said he is okay with me," I say quietly.

"Sure, that's what he says, but I have eyes, don't I? I merely mention you and he gets awkward. I think Calvin might be a little afraid of the rest of the team, and I don't totally blame him. Pushing people is good, but I don't want to push too hard. On the other hand, everyone knows better than to mess with Zane. No one is about to give the bad-ass juvy boy any crap. I genuinely think that beneath the attitude and tattoos, there's an open-minded boy that doesn't mind that you are different. He's not some self-righteous prick. He might be a fuck-up, but who isn't in their own way? I was hoping, that in a Platonic sense, that you two might be good for one another."

"But Coach—" I say, my mouth falling open.

"I know he doesn't hate you. I can see it in his eyes."

"But—"

"Goodnight, Travis."

"Goodnight," I mutter, looking at the floor.

Coach hands me my key card and I key into my room.

I hear the shower running. My heart starts racing again.

I don't trust myself to be alone with Zane. Not after what happened last time.

He just has this horrifying way of switching my brain off.

The door clicks shut behind me.

The shower stops. I hear Zane filling up the toilet. Then he flushes it away.

Dammit, how do I get in these situations?

Zane walks out moments later. Shower water is still dripping from his slicing muscles, and from his thin face. He's not naked now—he has a jock strap that matches the one he gave me, except this one is black. His fat cock stretches the fabric taut.

I look into Zane's eyes. They fracture the light like emeralds.

"Zane—" I say. I sigh. "I know what you are doing."

"What am I doing?" Zane asks, his voice low.

"You manipulated Coach into making us share a room tonight."

Zane walks up to me, icy and calm as ever. He palms my chin. "Disappointed you couldn't spend it with Chris? Or perhaps Calvin? Face the facts, faggot. Neither of them is comfortable around you. Deep down, it makes them sick that you would fantasize about them. They can't quite understand why they hate you; they want to believe they aren't bad people, but nothing relaxes them as much as cracking a joke at your expense, at keeping the status quo right where it is with them up high in society and a faggot like you at the bottom. They aren't your friends. They don't invite you to things, they abandon you for years at a time, and they would never stick their neck out for you."

"I'm going to shower," I say quietly. I walk around him, enter the bathroom, and close the door a little too loudly behind me. I switch the lock.

I rinse the pool water from me, massaging shampoo into my hair and rubbing body wash into my skin slowly.

The shower water splashes over my head, my neck, and my chest. I can see some subtle muscles there. It is nothing like Zane or Chris, but it is more than was there before. The water coils down my body and gets caught in the hair in my legs in little beads. The water runs and runs.

Inversion.

That was Zane's name for a paradox—a moment when the forbidden becomes the compulsory and that war inside yourself becomes the fuel for proliferation—for sex.

A gushing stream of water falls into my mouth and I spit it out on the bottom of the tub.

I turn the knob and towel off before wrapping the towel around my waist.

When I leave the bathroom, Zane is doing pull-ups from a bar hanging from the ceiling.

He's already drenched in sweat.

I chuckle. "So you take a shower only to grunge up again five minutes later?" I say.

Zane grunts, doing another pull-up.

"Chlorine is gross. Sweat is not."

I bite my lip. Maybe Zane is right. Not about sweat—but about the fact that Chris and the others aren't willing to accept me. About how Zane is the one who understands defying convention—and therefore is the one that understands me.

I walk over to him, gazing up into his eyes.

"You want to smell my junk, don't you?" he asks.

"Doesn't it just smell like chlorine and soap?"

He swings toward me, wrapping his legs around my back, pulling me in toward him. My mouth is level with his balls; the stretched fabric is right in front of my eyes; through the stitch, I can see the outline of his corkscrew cock.

"What do you think?"

I breathe. It's the raunchiest smell I can remember. Layers of sweat from different places on his body, cum, piss, and ass flavor overwhelm my nose. I close my eyes and inhale in rapid bursts.

"I didn't wear my jockstrap in the pool. I wasn't wearing anything at all. You must have really been in Travis-land if you didn't notice that. Didn't want to ruin my project. I've been making my next jockstrap smell nice for you and didn't want to waste all this."

Zane unwraps his legs and swings away.

"You don't think I might get the wrong impression from your project?" I ask. I do my best impression of Zane, circling him slowly. "The jockstrap emphasizes your bubble butt, you know."

He laughs. "You are a total bottom, Travis. The only thing you want of my ass is to stick your tongue deep inside it and eat it." He flexes the muscular globes at me I feel myself slavering. I finish circling him and look up into his eyes.

He flashes a twisted smile. "And maybe to have something to hold onto when my cock is plunging into you."

I keep my eyes on him and bite my bottom lip.

He holds himself up by one arm now, his thickened biceps shaking, while he uses his free hand to grip me by the back of the head—and pull me back into him. He buries my face in the jockstrap and bobbles it around. His legs encircle me again; his heels dig into my ass, padding up and down on it.

"You want to suck my cock," Zane says. "Let go of everything, Travis. Everything but desire. That's how you find yourself. See where it takes you—see where the truth hides. Kiss me, Travis. Make out with my fucking cock."

I suck on it through the jock, softly at first, then harder. I suck the taste out of the material.

I reach my hands around and grab his naked ass. I had never thought about it before, but Zane's cock had always been so accessible to me—even before this whole mess started, he would parade it around the locker room. Now it feels like something I had taken for granted had been taken away—outlawed—imprisoned.

I nibble softly on his stiffening cock and big balls through the fabric. After a few more squeezes, I force myself to let go of his muscular, firm, velvety ass. I start to pull his jock down.

He slaps my face, again hanging by one flexing arm again. I whimper.

"Please Zane. Please let me make you feel good."

Zane flashes his dark, twisted half-smile. His shadowy emerald eyes glint in the dark. My gaze falls on his yin-yang earring, and I feel myself shivering.

Zane grabs me by the hair, his sneer curling. "Something tells me you'll make me feel real good tonight."

His earring catches the light; I gape; Zane stares me down, the light shimmering in his deep green eyes.

He's inescapable.

He laughs, and even though our room is not cacophonous like the pool room, Zane's voice echoes everywhere in my mind.

--- Feedback keeps me in the mood to write and brainstorm and is always appreciated. :) email: krazytop@gmail.com tumblr: krazytop.tumblr.com