The Downfall of Nate Ramsey

Downfall of Nate Ramsey Chapter 17

THE DOWNFALL OF NATE RAMSEY

By Kit Fortier

Based on the concept and characters by Jasper Cooper © 2019

NOTE: The previous chapter and the ones to come, including the epilogue, have been a collaboration between myself and the original author, Jasper. His previous submissions garnered great interest—but the story went unfinished for a few years. With his permission and input, we've worked out the ending, and Downfall now has its completion.

DISCLAIMER: This story is a gay fantasy; no part of it is based in fact, and none of the characters are intended to resemble real persons. This story chronicles the humiliating ordeals an 18- year-old high school senior is unwillingly subjected to. Some of these humiliations have a strong sexual component. If you are underage, or do not want to read about such matters, you should leave this webpage at once. Assuming you do not fall into either category (you should not have made it this far if you did), I bid you: onward!

*** *** *** *** ***

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: "If at first you don't succeed, top, top again."

*** *** *** *** ***

The scoreboard read in flashing red LEDs: 72 – 65.

The Marlins won the championship.

Nate was sweaty, standing in the periphery of his cheering teammates. He wiped his brow on the hem of his uniform, smiling. (More than a few people in the audience enjoyed the momentary glimpse of the teen's glistening abs.) At least 25 of those points were on his account. But today, he was happy to just keep that to himself.

In the crowd, Nate spotted his parents. They waved and laughed, still cheering him on. He waved back, happy in their delight. Spencer was on the edge of the risers, waiting for him. Nate trotted over to Spencer, who stood as he approached.

"C'mere, you," he said, opening his arms.

"Dude, I'm gross!" Nate laughed, playing at pushing Spencer off.

"Don't care," Spencer grinned. He pulled Nate in, and Nate returned the hug. "I happen to like you all damp and dirty."

Nate smirked. "Later," he said. "We'll celebrate at the motel. I'll get us another room. Race ya there."

Spencer pulled back slightly, keeping the hug friendly but close. "Aren't you gonna hang out with your team for a bit?"

"Yeah, Nathaniel, aren't you gonna celebrate with us?" Owen jeered as he strolled up with Melanie under his arm. "Hey babe," Owen cooed at his girl. "I'll see you at the house, okay? We've got some stuff to do."

Melanie giggled and practically skipped off without a word to Nate. He couldn't understand why she would get back together with Owen, but it was good that she wasn't focused on hating him for cheating on her.

"We'll be back with your boy, Spence," Troy said pleasantly. He and Owen slapped their hands firmly on Nate's back in an overly friendly display.

Too friendly. Wes, Jason, Ethan, and Drew were in tow.

Nate felt cold inside, as if someone reached up with a frozen glove and seized his heart. When the school stadium disappeared behind one set of metal doors, and the boys walked through another set leading to the steam room, Troy and Owen—mostly Owen—shoved Nate hard into the whirling, hot mist. They weren't alone. Tripp and his goony "yes" men, Gray and Leo, were perched on a high bench wearing towels and leering smiles. They were vultures, circling the kill.

"Strip, fagboy," Owen snapped. "The guys agreed, I got gypped on at least six hours when you were mine yesterday."

Nate shook his head, disbelieving. "No, this can't be right! Wes! It's not fair! You told me, you showed me—"

"Showed you what, cum_slut_?" Drew mocked, pleased with his rhyme. "The website? I had to start from scratch because the ISP got shut down. But all your stuff?" He pulled up a tablet with the words, "NATE RAMSEY AND HIS GREATEST HITS". "You're gonna be famous! World-wide famous! And it's all gonna start with this YouTube video of you taking that pizza boy's fist."

"We're gonna need more, though," Wes smirked. "Audiences these days looooove a good bareback fuck. Sometimes with two unwrapped dicks. Hell, I think we can get up to three! Nothing screams slut like raw triple penetration. Right guys?"

The room filled with hissing steam, hoots, and ugly catcalls. Nate fought the urge to hurl.

"Yeah," Drew laughed. "We're gonna release round one, and while that racks up, we'll get `em ready for round two! You'll probably want to give your parents a head's up, because it's all going down, cockwhore!"

All the guys laughed. Nate broke down and fell to his knees, tears streaming from his face.

"Oh shit, y'all," Owen sneered. "He's whipping out the tears. Maybe we should help him along. Wes? Got your camera ready?"

Wes pulled his phone out. Owen and the rest of the boys started peeling off their shoes and uniforms. It wasn't long before everyone but Nate was steaming in the nude. Owen stepped forward with Wes standing and filming. The others sat up and down the steam room benches.

"So, crybaby doesn't wanna play, huh cutiepie?" Owen said. He violently yanked Nate to his feet, slamming him against the wall.

"Fuck yeah!" Jason whooped. "Make him cry some more! Tears make a great lube, dude!"

"Hear that, fagboy? We're gonna raw-dog you deep, and we're gonna slick ourselves up with your fucking faggot tears when we do it."

Nate whispered, barely audible over the hiss of the steam room vents. "I'm not a fag."

The guys snickered. Tripp began chanting, quickly followed by his minions. "Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!"

The room lit up with the rhythmic chant. It was primeval, animalistic. Owen started stripping Nate as he would have a woman he was about to enjoy.

Owen leaned in and spoke only for Nate's ear. "Good thing you did all that screaming yesterday. It's handy. You can scream all you want, and no one will hear it. And right now, the way I'm undressing you? It'll be like the other videos. It makes you look like you want it."

Nate shoved Owen away as hard as he could. The game took too much out of him. Owen laughed. "Boys, we got ourselves a fighter! Plan B!"

Within half a heartbeat, Nate was pinned beneath nine jocks with a monstrous grudge. Nate winced and cried out as his uniform was torn from his body, as was his underwear. His assailants quite literally ripped his clothes to shreds.

Owen grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back. He spat a mouthful of saliva on Nate's face.

"Fuck it. We're doing this dry. Sluts don't deserve lube. Who wants in first? I need two volunteers."

Troy called out, cackling. "Make it three!"

Owen laughed. "Three it is!" He went to his uniform and pulled out his phone. After he dialed a number, he waited for the call to connect.

"Bobby! Buddy, we need your help. Can you come into the steam room? Thanks bro!"

Nate didn't have time to experience the nausea he knew was coming as the boys yanked him up between them. Eight athletic teens held down the handsome hunk effortlessly. Bobby strode through the door, letting it slam behind him. Nate flinched at the sound.

"Hey buddy, can you do us a favor?" Owen waited briefly for Bobby to nod. "I want you to record everything we do, okay? Nate's going for a ride. He's gonna feel like he's been fucked by a fire hydrant!"

Bobby squealed gleefully. "Can I have a copy?"

Owen laughed and smiled, tussling his hair like he'd just asked for a cookie. "You bet, bud. Here, it's recording now!" Owen handed Bobby his phone and turned back to Nate, who was struggling in vain against the gang.

The boys at Nate's feet made room for Owen, spreading the boy's legs wide enough to give the brute a clear path. He could feel an odd tapping at his back all around him. He realized that every boy with a hand on him was sporting a dripping erection. All anticipating a go at one or both of Nate's orifices. And none of them looked like they would have any mercy for him. He was in for a really hard night.

The redheaded sadist gave a clap of his hands and announced, "Let the fucking fun begin!"

Nate was not prepared. He never was when it came to his torments. Owen literally walked up to Nate and mercilessly shoved his wide-as-a-beercan dick in past his swollen, overheated hole.

No preparation. No lubricant. Just sweat, fear, and sudden and jarring invasion. Nate screamed, but all that came out was air.

"Aw, that's a pity," Troy said. "I love it when you scream."

"It's okay," Drew returned. "I'll edit in some sounds of him moaning and begging like a whore. No one will notice," he said with a heartless smirk.

The boys held Nate in place as Owen drove into him again and again. He went all the way out, and all the way in. Each time, Nate felt like he was being punched in the anus with the top of a baseball bat. He thrashed his head and bucked as hard as he could, but nine-to-one were odds he couldn't beat.

Nate had gone out of his mind. He was begging. His mouth shaped the words, "Please! Stop! You're killing me!" in rapid, uncontrolled bursts. But as Owen noted, Nate's voice was gone—yet another thing stripped from him by his group of masters.

Owen's pummeling sped up, and a blush crawled up his sweaty skin. "Fuck—fagboy, you're gonna get my cum all up inside you! It's coming, oh shit, it's coming! Yeah! Yeah! Take it, fag! Take it!"

Nate's mantra of supplication turned into a gibbering stream of the same four words over and over again, in any combination his overworked brain could put together: "I'm not a fag! I'm not! Not a fag!"

Owen's cum rocketed up into Nate. As soon as Owen was done, he spat on Nate's torso and stepped away while Wes took his place. Nate's breathing had become ragged, exhausted, as he kept chanting, as if though his words would keep the wolves at bay.

"Aw, honey," Troy laughed. "You can say that all you want, but your dick is so hard right now I could break a brick over it."

Wes chimed in right after Troy. "You keep saying that, but I think you're telling the wrong guys," Wes said. "We. Don't. Give. A fuck." He snatched Nate's dick, jerking him violently before slapping his dick away. Nate flinched and groaned.

Indeed, Nate's cock was fully engorged, straining, and angry red. Shame washed over him.

Wes was hammering ferociously into Nate's well-past-sore hole. Owen walked over to Bobby and wrapped an arm around the kid's shoulder.

"Hey Nate? Since you're so insistent on getting the message out maybe we should bring in the people who do care," Owen said. "Bobby, there's a few unsent texts in my messenger. Can you hit `send' on the first one for me?"

Bobby righted the phone so he could do as Owen asked. He gave Owen a thumbs-up, and the redhead laughed. "Alright, man!"

Nate stopped struggling. It was pointless. The guys had him again, and all he could do was try with all his heart to survive it. The boys around him let their hands roam over his body, taking equal pleasure in molesting and hurting him: stroking his abs, twisting his nipples, flicking his cock, squeezing his balls, slapping his ass. His eyes were clenched shut, trying to blind himself from the pain that was unfortunately coming from a different sense altogether.

"Gonna get you nice and loose, then we'll do a foursome!" Wes said, punctuating every word with a head-on collision against his prostate. But this wasn't causing pleasure. It was agony. But Nate's cock didn't know any better. He was hard as a rock, his dick was straining, as if it was begging for attention. The boys just slapped it like they slapped his body, adding even more pain to the mix.

Wes's climax was coming. Nate could see it. His thrusting picked up speed, and he was jamming his cock into Nate erratically.

"Oh yeah," Wes said. "You know you want it," he said, chanting it, building into a crescendo.

The door slammed. Some of the boys turned out slightly, giving the visitor a clear view. Wes's chanting had hit its peak.

"Take it! Take what I give you, bitch!" he cried, shooting his boy batter deep into Nate's bowels.

"What the fuck?"

Oh god. Spencer.

Troy took Wes's place, and Wes took Troy's, holding Nate up with the others. Troy began fucking as if it was only him and Nate in the room.

"I—what's... What is this?" Spencer cried. Nate watched in horror as Spencer turned a bit pale green. "You... I... I trusted you!"

Troy mewled in a sick, sweet voice as he fucked into Nate. "I'm so sorry, Spencer, but you were never enough for him. He's spent so long in the closet, that acknowledging his attraction to other guys basically opened the floodgates to super-slutdom. All we're doing is giving him the cock he craves. He's taken three already, counting me!" He hammered at Nate's hole hard on the last two words.

"Oh god," Spencer said. "I...you—You came, we didn't... You didn't ...YOU DIDN'T USE A CONDOM!" The man turned green. Nate's tormentors laughed. "I trus-trusted you," Spencer stuttered. "Is this a game to you? You trick guys into letting you fuck them bareback, pretending to be all innocent and virginal when really you're a whore who's giving it up to every dude on your team? You sick piece of shit! I can't believe I thought I was in love with you. I don't love you; I HATE you! I don't want to ever see you again!"

Nate's face was between anguish and pain. He'd felt heartbreak before, but losing the only friend he had through this whole horrible ordeal was another wound he never believed would heal.

"Bobby, send the next one!" Owen said, dutifully pumping Nate up and down. Nate's three fuckers long-dicked him at their own separate paces, making sure that at least two dicks were inside him at all times, stretching him out.

"That's a good bottom baby," Owen babbled in sugary toddler-speak. "Let it all out, bitch. Cry, because I promise you, the only thing you will ever have to look forward to is whatever skanky, disease-soaked fag we sell your sweet ass to. You got no love, and..."

"Nate!" a familiar voice cried. Nate didn't even have to look. It was Coach Reilly. Mr. Vaughn was right behind him. Coach continued, "What kind sick—"

Nate bucked and squealed, his eyes wide with grief and shame. He could no longer voice his protests, so he tried to convey his fate, his rejection with his eyes, his face.

But everything he did in that moment made him look like it was what he wanted all along. He had his traitorous dick to thank for that

"Jesus, Nate. This is just... Don't come back Monday. Just... Stay the fuck away from my younger boys. Stay away from all of them!" Coach spun on his heel and disappeared through the door. Mr. Vaughn gave Nate a sad grimace, shaking his head slightly, as if he just watched someone flush all of their promise and talent away. He quietly followed after the other teacher as the door once again closed heavily.

"Bobby! Send the next text!" Owen cried with terrible glee.

Bobby complied. Nate felt his heart plunge deep into the freezing void in his soul. He wept unconsolably and let his body go limp in his despair.

"No, no, no, no..." Nate said, trying to deny what he knew was coming. Tears were flung from his cheeks with each shake of his head. Troy smirked. He long-dicked Nate and stroked him off—his pleasuring clearly part of a new, lascivious humiliation. His fucking picked up significantly as another smash of the door sounded.

"What's all this about? Owen? You said Nate needs—" The sudden stop to Nate's father's voice told him it was over. Despite the heat and the steam, Nate never felt colder in his life, and the feeling would only get worse from here.

A rush of endorphins flooded Nate's brain. He curled up as far as his captors allowed, his face twisted in pleasure and pain, with the latter being far more prevalent. The climax Troy induced was ripped from Nate as he sprayed his own face with cum. The boys hooted with triumphant glee as Troy scooped up his prey's release and shoved it into his mouth while Marsha and Mitchell Ramsey watched in disgusted horror.

"Nate!" his mother cried.

"Go outside, wait for me," Mitchell said.

"But—" Marsha objected. Mitchell cut her off.

"I'll take care of it, Marsha. You can't be in here!"

Marsha Ramsey ignored her husband. It made Nate hope. Maybe she would stop this. Maybe she would rescue him somehow. But the words that came out of her mouth dashed all that hope to pieces on the steam room floor as Troy continued to fuck Nate leisurely.

"How could you do this? You're my only son! My baby!" Marsha let a sob escape her. Her face had first presented as grief and sadness, but it shifted to a coldness that Nate had never seen in his mother before. "We don't have a son anymore, Mitch. This one's dead to me." She turned around into her husband's arms.

"I never raised my son to be a pervert," Mitchell said softly but sternly as he held Martha close. "When you're done with this... this sick orgy, you can come home—to the house, pick out enough clothes to last you a week. Take your laptop. Take whatever. But you're done. We're done. Take what shit you can carry, because it's all going to the dump tomorrow. And don't you dare try to talk to your moth—my wife."

Nate's parents turned to leave, unaware their son was screaming their names, begging them to listen to him. "I'm not gay!" he mouthed. "They made me do this!" he screamed in a whisper. "I'm not gay!" he repeated.

Martha spoke while her husband opened the door and held it open for her. "I'd give anything to start over with a child who's normal." Tripp's laughter chased them from the room as he mocked them.

"Lady, all your children will be bitches just like this one here!" he chortled. Leo and Gray were right there, laughing with him the whole way.

The door slammed, and the Ramseys were gone.

Nate had nothing. Nothing left to give. Nothing left to lose. Any shot at a life worth living was well beyond his reach.

"We took your love life," Troy said, his face reddening and his insistent barrage of fucks thrown into Nate becoming erratic. "We've taken your future," he moaned as he slammed against Nate's weary flesh. "We've taken your home. Fuck!" Troy's face screwed in pleasure as Nate submitted to another thick load of cum flooding his insides. Troy pulled out of Nate quick, like someone ripping off a band-aid. Nate's hole remained diluted, and a drizzle of three loads started trickling out of him.

"Oh, ohh Nate," Jason said. "You dropped something. Here." Jason bent down and swiped up as much of the cum as he could into his hand. "Lemme put it back where it came from." As was expected, he moved with uncaring malice, shoving four of his fingers at once into Nate's gaping hole. Nate lay in his captors' arms, rapidly becoming numb to his abuses. Maybe he could tune them out. Maybe he could just live in his head. They can't get him there. He could think of the good times in his life. The last night he spent with Spencer. The day he got his car. Birthdays with the only real friend he had in his life—T.J. They couldn't take that. That was his alone—

"We've got one more for you, Nate. It's a good one!" Owen said. "First, we gotta prep you up. Almost done, Jason?"

Nate hadn't even been aware that Jason had been in him. All sensation had pretty much vacated—his brain was unable to process the information it received from the pain sensors at his overdriven channel. Jason's neck strained, and he emptied out inside Nate. A malevolent glint flashed in Jason's eyes as he pulled out, and with all the spite he could muster, he slapped both hands on Nate's abs, causing him to seize up once more, flexing every muscle at once for a brief moment.

Thankfully, because his brain had entered into a state of numbness, he felt nothing.

"Ethan, Drew, you're with me," Wes said. "Owen, you do the lifting. Gray? Leo? Hold his arms. Don't want him trying to get away from this one," he said with a smirk.

Nate didn't know why they bothered. They already robbed him of everything. But when Wes, Ethan, and Drew arranged themselves beneath him, he barely pieced together what was about to happen when Owen confirmed it.

"Bobby? Please send the last text. Oh! Make sure you get this one good. You might wanna get a little closer." Using his chin, Owen indicated where he wanted Nate's next door neighbors' kid to stand and film. The sound of a little rushing jet played softly from Owen's phone, and Bobby went to the spot Owen requested. Tripp stood behind Bobby, who was so excited for what was coming next that he looked like was going to pop.

Nate's red-headed nemesis slid in behind Nate as Gray and Leo took his arms. The other boys let Nate's legs down with care, as not to drop their prey's limbs on their friends at his feet. For whatever reason, Nate sunk into Owen's arms. He imagined they were good friends, hugging each other.

How childishly naive his brain was being.

Owen crowed, "We're gonna call this video, `Three Cocks, One Cunt'. Like that? I thought of it myself." Owen's smirk was predatory. Nate just wanted it to be done.

"Okay, lower him down," Wes said. Nate took a deep breath as he was about to endure a triple penetration. The door opened just before the three dicks had invaded Nate's hole together.

"Owen told me I could find my friend, Nate—"

Nate was struck with another wave of shame and despair as a seriously more mature version of Nate's best friend, T.J. Powell, stepped into the room. He held those emotions as the next step on Nate's ladder of grief was taken, and three dicks found their target.

"Nate? Is that—what the fuck are you doing?"

Nate's head lolled back as he actually felt his sphincter being stretched to accommodate the triple-dicking. The pain was unbelievable. It felt like they were trying to gut him alive. He would have welcomed oblivion, but it was not to be. Through agony like he'd never imagined before, he remained conscious. His voice, which had largely left him, came back as he groaned.

"Holy shit, you're a fag?" T.J. cried. "Wow. That figures. I never knew why you wanted all those sleepovers. You were probably trying to figure out how to get in my pants, you sick fuck."

Nate tried to speak, tried to say, "I'm not a fag," but the voice he had groaned with went mute once more. He shook his head violently, trying to gesture with his arms—but Leo and Gray held on tight, preventing him from making any motion that might save him from the pain.

Owen pressed down on Nate, pushing him down completely on all three dicks. All the boys hooted and jeered as Nate moaned, his brain processing the pleasure from the pressure on his prostate. Owen lifted him briefly and pushed him down again, playing the boy like an accordion. After yet another lewd groan, Nate miserably took in T.J.'s look of disgust.

T.J. shook his head. "Shit. I guess it's a good thing we moved when we did. Otherwise, I might have been labeled the best friend of a fag."

Nate became hysterical. He tried to kick, but the boys at his feet held his legs in place. He tried to thrash his arms, but they were tangled in arms holding them down. He mustered enough wind to scream-whisper, "Wait! I'm not gay! Please! Don't leave me—I'm not gay!"

Nate's best friend gave him one last look—a side eye of revulsion. Nate's whisper repeated, "I'm not gay," as T.J. walked out the door. Once more, Nate chanted frantically. When the door slammed,

Nate's voice returned, miraculously healed.

Just in time to be too late.

He screamed out, hoping against hope that T.J., Mom, Dad, anybody would hear: "I'm not! I'm not gay!"

The boys took to mimicking Nate's denial, booing and mocking him. Their voices drowned out his own, but he still called out. But as the moments turned into minutes, Nate's last hope for any semblance of a normal life fizzled into nothing like a drop of water on scathing concrete.

Nate had tuned everything out—the derision, the jeers. To him, it was all becoming one, aching, heavy, horrible din. The boys' laughter brimmed into a boil, and soon the room was full of the sound of Nate's cries as he impaled himself repeatedly, the sounds of sex, his protest repeated between the groans forced on him as Owen over-roughly lifted him up and pressed him down: "I'm not gay! I'm not! I'M NOT!"

"Nate! Baby! Wake up, please!"

He was seated up. His fists were in front of him, balled up tight and trembling. Arms were around him, holding him from behind. He could feel himself repeating the words from his dream:

"I'm not gay."

Spencer held Nate for a while, hushing him, stroking his fingers through Nate's coal-black hair. Spencer wiped Nate's face with a fistful of loose bedsheet, sweeping away the sweat, the tears.

Spencer was torn. It stung, hearing Nate's nightmare confession bleed into the reality of the waking world. Nate had come so far, but clearly he was overwhelmingly terrified of coming out. His tortured psyche simply refused to let him be at peace with himself.

"Nate, it's okay," Spencer said calmly, quietly. "I get it. It's not the right time. You don't have to do this now, or any time soon, alright? I promise, I'll wait for you."

Nate's balled up fists had opened as Spencer spoke, grabbing hold of his forearms and holding Spencer tightly.

"I'll wait. You're worth it, okay?"

Seconds passed into moments. Moments passed into minutes. Spencer rocked and swayed Nate until he quieted down. Eventually, Nate straightened up as if to stand—but a wave of fatigue swept over him. Spencer glanced at the standard-issue motel alarm clock. It read 2:00am. They'd been asleep for about an hour.

"Hey, champ," Spencer said playfully but carefully. Nate turned to him and smiled.

"Hey." Nate's mind stuttered on what to say. Some parts of the nightmare were fading, others stuck out. The pain his brain felt in the dream was obliterated the moment he woke, but the trauma still felt the same. He took a controlled breath in an attempt to release the anguish. "Spencer?"

"Yeah, handsome?"

"Can I be the little spoon?

Spencer chuckled. "If you wanted me to hold you, you could have just said so."

"Okay then," Nate said in a tiny voice. "Spencer?"

"Yes, Nate?"

"Hold me." Nate cringed slightly at the command. He softened his request. "Please."

Spencer shifted to the center of the bed and laid on his side, holding out his bedside arm for Nate to lay on. Nate slid in, scooting until his back was pressed against his friend's front. When Spencer's other arm completed the circle around him, Nate put his hands on Spencer's forearms and gave them a gentle squeeze. With three deep breaths, he closed his eyes, and waited.

*** *** *** *** ***

Troy came back from the meeting with the guys and headed back to Finn's dormitory. When he got to the door to Finn's room, the door was ajar.

The room was dark. Finn was in bed, facing the wall. The light of the moon pouring in through the windows gave Finn's alabaster skin a rather pale glow. He looked so damn good wearing nothing but a pair of tight white briefs that hugged his shapely ass – the same ass Troy had enjoyed plowing many a time. His breathing was rhythmic and regular. The older boy had fallen asleep.

Yet another way that Finn managed to avoid looking at him.

It was something that Finn hadn't locked the door and left him a message on the board saying "go away" or some other variant. At least, he didn't see one before he came in. At that moment, he quietly checked to make sure.

Nothing.

Rather like what had been happening between them since they dropped Nate off earlier that evening.

Troy heaved a heavy sigh. With Finn's roommate out for the night, there was no one in the other bed. Troy knew better than to try anything right now. He removed his shoes and padded to the empty bed. He sat on it, facing Finn's half of the room.

Little flare-ups of hope, like a string of firecrackers in a pot, lit up with each deluded idea that things were actually alright.

Things would look better in the morning.

Things would be talked through.

Things would go back to normal.

It's what Troy needed. What he hoped for. Finn shutting him out has been one of the worst things he'd suffered thus far. He couldn't imagine a worse pain.

He shuddered. He could imagine worse.

In fact, he made sure that each day was just a little worse than the last for the boy who had been the team's bitch and slave for the past two weeks.

There was only so much his heart could take as it was crushed by the weight of his conscience. Where the fuck was it when he decided to drug the asshole jock? That was a crime of opportunity—and everything converged on the moment Nate lost his bet.

Troy hoisted his feet onto the bed as he lay on top of the blankets. It smelled like stale sweat and deodorant.

How could it happen? How did things go from rolling around in Finn's sheets playing boyfriends to crawling across this minefield of silence? Late in the afternoon two days ago, Troy was at the top of the world, stringing his human plaything along like an errant puppy. He relished, delighted in fucking with Nate's mind, watching him crumble to his own doubts. He hadn't treated him like a human. He turned blind eyes to Nate's torment, often taking the lead as an active hand in it all. Before Nate, Troy managed to fuck every guy who fell in his path, leaving behind a string of sated but abandoned Toms, Dicks, and Harrys.

But then Troy leapt into a different kind of action. A niggle of fear for another guy's life had overtaken him, imbuing him with a sense of compassion, of mercy. The index in his mind cataloguing all the shit they did to Nate had gone past the point of no return.

He wanted to hurt Nate for being a raging bastard. He wanted to fuck with his sense of self, to break any confidence he may have in the one aspect of his life he treasured—his precious masculinity with psychological and physical torture...

But it had turned into actual, potentially crippling, life-threatening torture.

Stopping that became... a necessity.

While he likely saved Nate from serious injury, he stood to lose too much in return.

In another universe, Troy thought of Finn and himself laying in the bed across the dorm. They were making quiet confessions of love and soaking in each other's company. The room was warm, and the sunlight was waning as the two inched together for the inevitable collision of skin, lips, teeth, tongues.

It was a pleasing fiction. Troy closed his eyes. He really hoped things would look better when the sun rose. He could imagine it shining on the pale skin and glittering green eyes of a boy he loved so much. His smile would be the light of a thousand suns to him right now.

He held onto that thought, hoping it would follow him into his dreams.

*** *** *** *** ***

Daylight broke. Beams of light stretched across Mount Pleasant, already buzzing with early morning activities. People hit the road to commute, hoping, as they did every day, that traffic would be mild at the very least. Stay-at-home parents spread out breakfast and made lunches while their kids ate. Delivery trucks shifted from store to store, grocery to restaurant. Groundskeepers began cleaning, knowing that by the end of the day, they'd have to clean up all over again. Humidity rolled in thick through the air rather early. It made everything, and everyone, feel heavy, and the general vibe somehow portentous.

Wes lay in bed, staring at the bumps and imperfections in the creamy stucco ceiling of his room. Sunlight poured in through a sliver of an opening in his curtains. Through that narrow space floated dust motes. Wes thought to count them, but they disappeared into the ambient dark just as quickly as they floated into the light.

He couldn't muster sleep. His brain refused to give him the blissful peace of restful inaction, of stasis. Were conscience a weight plate, he'd be crushed beneath a column of his own hopes, doubts, and fears.

He thought back to last night. After he and Jason talked, his best friend went home, and Wes called Owen. He did so by way of video phone, so he could (hopefully) see Owen. The red-head didn't disappoint as his face appeared, as did his shoulders. A faint pale glow lit up one side of Owen's face. Wes assumed he was on the computer.

"Hey there, Owen."

"Wes," Owen said. While he was brief, he wasn't clipped or curt. That was a good sign.

"Are you going to class before the game?" Wes asked after a pause.

"I don't think so," Owen replied. "Lots of stuff going on."

"Stuff between you and Nate? You know everything's been called off, right? Things got really serious in a bad way."

Owen gave Wes a sad glance through the video. "I know," he said, "I know. I—have had a lot of... issues I have to work out."

Wes dared to hope. What came out of Owen's mouth next would tell him if he had to truly intervene or if he could relax. "Is working them out... working?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I don't know what came over me, Wes." Owen's eyes brimmed with tears. "I just ... completely lost it. I just hated him so damned much, and I went to a really dark place. All because I wanted to pay him back for making fun of me and stealing my girl. What was I thinking?"

"That's the million dollar question, buddy," Wes said. "I get it, Owen, I do. We'd all been fucked over by the guy, but after everything we put him through, I think it's safe to say he's learned his lesson." Wes closed his eyes and saw Nate's face, his body language. The way Nate shied away from him, even cowered—it ripped at him in ways he didn't understand.

"Yeah," Owen sighed. It was a little non-committal for Wes' liking. Wes realized that Owen's attention was split in two, with more of it going to the computer monitor than to him.

"What are you working on that's got you so preoccupied?"

"I've been pushing through a lot of homework last night and today. I'm trying to have it done before the game, because if we win, I wanna spend the weekend celebrating," Owen said, his face brightening slightly.

The idea of winning that game warmed Wes's heart, too. But he had to break bad news, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

"Owen, I've got to make the call. It's real soon after what happened, and I don't want to see any in-fighting."

Owen didn't respond immediately. He let out a slight huff before he spoke. "You're asking me to sit this one out." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"You're asking me... to sit out the championship game?"

Wes cringed inwardly. He nodded, knowing Owen could see him. "After everything that's happened, I don't think ... we owe it to Nate, to give him a safe environment, the chance to excel. You know he's up for a scholarship-"

"He doesn't need it," interrupted Owen. "His folks are rich. He can afford college. I can't.""I'm sorry, Owen, I know you were hoping for a scholarship too but ..." Wes's voice trailed off.

"But it's not bloody likely," Owen finished for him. "I'm simply not good enough. Never good enough, just like Nate always likes to say."

Wes sighed. "I know it hurts, man, but after everything that's gone down these past two weeks, you've got to let it go. it's the least we can do. If you're serious about being contrite for yesterday, you'll give Nate this." Wes rubbed his eyes before he looked at the screen again. He gave a hopeful grin. "You're still part of the Marlins. If we win, it's a win for the whole team, reserves or not."

"I guess." Owen didn't sound particularly enthused, and Wes didn't blame him. "It just feels like ... Nate's won. He always wins."

"I don't think that's fair. What we put him through over the last few days, I wouldn't consider that winning in any sense."

Owen shrugged, looking unconvinced. "I suppose. Don't look so worried, cap. I'll make nice with Nate, even though I still feel he doesn't deserve it. But this is bigger than just him, and I know that. And I want to make amends, I truly do. So I'll toe the line. Nate can have his big night in the spotlight."

With that, Owen's face froze. He'd ended the call.

Wes stared at his phone for a hot second before Owen's face disappeared. Something about his final expression unnerved him. He wished he could play it back.

Hours later, as the sun began to rise, Wes was still thinking about his call with Owen. There was something in the way he looked. The way he sounded. He told himself he'd imagined it. That there was nothing more Owen could do now with the website gone. He was just worrying himself unnecessarily. Owen had said he was sorry for going too far. Wes could empathize with that; he'd gone too far himself. The fact remained, however—either Owen was sincere, or he was a monstrous psychopath.

Wes hoped against hope that the former was true.

Wes pulled up Nate's number and fired off the text, asking if Nate was going to the school, or coming to the game. If so, he wanted to meet an hour before warm-ups. When he finished, he stared at Nate's number, wondering what he was up to, now that he was a free man.

He hadn't thought of much else. His memories of his utter control over the hapless hunk faded in and out of view. In the past, he'd have had a serious hard-on. Right now, he felt like everything was smothered in a heavy, wet blanket.

Wes took a deep breath and shut off his phone. When he looked up, he realized the sun was well above the horizon. What once was a sliver of light was now an ambient pool, and it had become too bright to see the drifting dance of the dust motes. He strode over to the curtains and closed them shut, trying to blot out the light. Then he set an alarm for an hour and a half before warm-ups. That ought to be enough time to throw on some clothes, down a protein shake, and get to the school stadium, game face on and everything. He'd talk with Nate, saw where he stood, and take the ball from there.

*** *** *** *** ***

Jason had got caught up in his sheets at least three times between the time he got into bed to the time the sun rose. Every time he neared actual sleep, Wes' words seemed like they were shouted into his face as the world in his brain had come so painfully close to a standstill.

"I'm not saying she lied." In Jason's mind's eye, Wes was speaking, but the words were out of sync.

"I'm saying a lot of people made assumptions." Jason couldn't deny this. Even though it was an assumption on Wes's part to assume Nate wasn't guilty, the inverse of the situation was just as plausible.

"...If Nate really raped that many girls, odds are one of them would have reported it." Wes's mouth never moved as the words he said bounced around Jason's brain. This was unfair! It challenged his firmly held conviction that Jessie was violated by the scumbag they rightfully punished with their actions! He wouldn't do any of what he did to an innocent man!

The thoughts that came next drifted off the mountain of rationality that Jason lost sight off in his quest for revenge.

You shouldn't do any of what you did to a bad guy, either. That's why the law exists.

Jason kicked himself repeatedly. He wished that Jessie had been that one girl who reported Nate when it happened. Were that the case, he could be content in the knowledge that Nate's life would be ruined by his actions.

But the rational wind gusted again. The thought? Only if he was found guilty.

Jason assumed. That much was obvious. His mind insisted on replaying the day Jessie... gave her account. He tried to keep the language sterile, free of emotion. To say "her side of the story" would infer that two truths existed where only one should be.

He thought of the photo. His naked sister, asleep. Nate's fancy underwear on the floor. Nate had just raped her, and took a picture—

No.

His train of thought skipped a rail tie. She was asleep. No tears, no bruises, no agony on her face. But then Jessie had never said that he'd been violent. Only that he'd taken advantage of her. That she'd had too much to drink. Too much to give meaningful consent for the rape – no, sexual encounter - that followed? Jessie hadn't said that either.

Jason had assumed. He wanted to believe the worst of Nate, and Nate made it so easy.

Otherwise, it was just a photo that Nate took after having sex with her.

And just that.

Jason had seen that serene, sleeping face before, hundreds if not thousands of times. He saw it here, in the warmth and safety of their own home. He doubted she'd be sleeping peacefully if she had just been violated like she said...

There was something missing in the puzzle, and it ate at Jason's sense of rationality that he didn't have all the pieces.

Jessie was down the hall. He could sit down with her, right now, to set things straight. But in this time, when the stress in the house was almost at a head, Jason thought better of adding to the family drama by ripping open a wound that had been stitched up with Nate's complete humiliation.

And Jason's train was off again. Wes was concerned about the cops. Everything was a kettle on its way to whistling. With the big game, so many futures were at stake. He was surprised Nate even agreed to play after everything his own teammates put him through. He didn't miss Troy mentioning how Nate reacted like a cornered rat, cowering pitifully, scared of his own voice. They'd brought him down, alright. He was so down that Jason wondered if Nate would even be up enough to be on his game.

If Nate were to walk into a police station right now, there would be so much evidence of his abuse that everyone who had a hand in his torture wouldn't breathe free air for ten years, at least. It was one thing to bully the bully back. It was another to violate him sexually, blackmail him, endanger him, and damn near kill him.

How Jason ignored the strictly rational side of his thinking, he wouldn't know. He could pin everything on his desire to avenge his little sister, but the best way he could have done that was to have taken her to the police himself and hold her hand through the process.

This? All of the team's individual contributions added up, and the punishment was inhuman, and insanely extreme.

Jason kicked off his blanket. He grabbed his clothes and headed for the shower.

Today was going to be a long day.

*** *** *** *** ***

It took a moment for Nate to remember where he was, who he was with. A warm, firm, tanned arm was wrapped around him. The bed, while a touch over-starched, was comfortable. He and the man behind him were naked. Nate could feel Spencer's morning wood pressing into his ass.

"Good morning, gorgeous," Spencer's voice said. It was muffled against the back of Nate's head.

Nate turned around and gave Spencer a little smile. "Morning." He leaned his head forward, giving Spencer a chaste kiss. Having rather blown his sex fuse the night before, Nate was... relieved? Curious? that he hadn't reacted.

What they did last night? It was amazing. It was fun. It made Nate feel overwhelmingly close to Spencer—but he felt like something was missing.

Sex with another man wasn't the nightmare Nate fervently reviled, then came to fear. With the right person, sex of any kind was liberating in many ways. He and Spencer shared that. Through pleasing Spencer, he realized just how to be free. Free from his own self-destructive insecurities. Free from self-consciously hiding behind a wall of his horrible, former beliefs. His former disgust of homosexuals transmuted into his disgust of himself for his beliefs.

Free to say yes, and ultimately, free to say no.

Nate cared for Spencer. One might say Nate loved Spencer. But the distinction was that Nate wasn't in love with Spencer. Nate realized he could be bisexual. He could be anything. But he would come to terms with that in his own time, at his own pace, not being forced into it, or coercively convinced otherwise. Spencer's promise to wait for him may end in a slight disappointment, but Nate would always want him to be a part of his life. Nate would release him, but Spencer would be welcome anytime, should he return.

For the moment, he'd let the revelation of love lie. This moment, safe in the arms of a friend, warm, fed, soon to be clean, and sated, Nate was in the perfect place to be, emotionally speaking. All he had to do was get to the school, warm up, and win the game.

A chime from Nate's phone broke the reverie. He frowned, rubbing Spencer's arm affectionately. "Gotta check this," he said.

He couldn't help the dread he felt when he'd wake the phone to find his former masters' lists of demands and torments waiting for him. But a different kind of anxiety slightly surprised Nate.

There were two messages:

Nate, will you be at school before the game?

If not, pls meet us before warm-ups.

Owen will not be there.

Wes.

That was interesting. They want a meeting before the game? That didn't seem like a good idea. Nate was just going to go, and play. He didn't want to deal with the bullshit that had been plaguing him for the past two weeks.

Son, we have news! See you at home before we go to the game?

We'll drive you! Love you. In case we miss you,

Good Luck!

Dad.

"My parents... have news?" Nate puzzled aloud.

"What could that mean?" Spencer asked, planting a kiss on Nate's shoulder.

"I don't know. It sounds like good news, so that's something." Nate shrugged. He fired Wes a text.

No school. Will be there to play.

See you before W/U.

There. Hopefully Wes hadn't stressed out too much. But that thought hadn't weighed heavily on Nate's mind, all things considered.

If he could help it, he'd be happy never to give Wes, or Owen, or Jason, or any of the guys, including Tripp and his friend-boys a thought ever again.

"Thx" showed up as Wes's reply. Nate tossed the phone back onto the nightstand.

His anxiety percolated over a silly question. Silly, but at this moment, very significant to Nate. He had to ask.

"Do you want to come to my game?"

Spencer's lips stilled. "Um..."

"If you can't, that's okay," Nate quickly covered-lied. "I just... I don't have friends in the crowd."

Spencer's heart chipped a little at that statement. "Of course, I'd love to come, but after your nightmare last night, I wasn't sure you'd want me there."

Nate didn't hesitate. "I do."

"Then I'll absolutely be there."

Nate smiled, even though Spencer couldn't see it.

Warm breath brushed past Nate's cheek. "Hey, I know I promised you a massage. It's a little too late for anything like deep tissue stuff, but we've got a couple of hours. I could relax you for a bit.

Nate turned around with his smile. "I think you just wanna touch my dick again," he said, lightly mocking.

Spencer had the decency to look only slightly ashamed. "Well, I know that helps. But I promise, I'll be good."

"You had me at `I promised you a massage'. What do you want me to do?"

Spencer nudged Nate out of the bed. "Let's get the covers off. Lay on your stomach and put your chin on your hands on the corner."

Nate did as he was directed while Spencer pulled a bottle of oil from his bag. "Oh, sorry," He said with a little shiver. "My bag was right in front of the AC, and it kinda chilled the oil. I'll put it on my hands first before I let it touch your skin, okay?"

Nate chuckled and shrugged. "This is your show, Spence. I'm just along for the ride."

"Probably the wrong thing to say to a guy holding a kind of lubricant who's staring at your fucking gorgeous ass, loverboy," Spencer shot back, good-natured. Nate's smile hadn't waned, but it did give him pause. He trusted Spencer not to hurt him.

"Thank you, Nate said. "Thank you for all of this," Nate added. He felt the gratitude in his heart radiating.

"It was noth—" Spencer stopped himself from finishing. It was definitely not nothing. It was so much. Probably more than his heart and mind could handle. But now wasn't the time to push it.

"You're welcome," Spencer replied. "You are so very welcome. Can't lie," Spencer continued, "I think I'm still feeling the aftershocks from our first round. I still feel it... in here," he touched his hand to his chest. He grinned when Nate responded with a smile. Spencer began his massage.

"When you're out there, remember two things: Play to win, and I'll wait. I'll be here."

A jolt of laughter burst from Nate's mouth after a satisfying groan. "Aw, come on, man—I'm sure you can think of better places to be than the Collinswood."

Spencer feigned hurt shock and punched Nate playfully on his meaty shoulder. "Don't be a jerk."

Nate closed his eyes and submitted to the warm touches, the feeling of skin to skin, "I can be your jerk though, right?" he asked softly, with sleep threatening to overtake him.

Spencer noticed Nate's closed eyes, that slight part in his mouth that indicated that he'd soon be leaving the conscious world for the dream one. "Damn right!"

When Spencer felt Nate's breathing even out beneath him, Spencer whispered to himself, "I hope."

The aches he bore from the electrocution torture still pinched at Nate. He was one big knot indeed, owing to the sudden, painful, prolonged contracting of every major muscle in his body due to Owen's devices. But Spencer willingly offered a countermeasure, and the young athlete was grateful. Nate drifted between waking and somnolence as Spencer's warm, large hands and bare skin drifted over him. His battered mind and body had found a soothing peace at the tips of Spencer's fingers, his palms, his forearms. When he turned over, he was erect, jutting upwards like a high-rise on a prairie skyline. Spencer stayed true to his word, though. He was good, even though his intentionally bypassing Nate's more erogenous zones rather had the opposite effect, and the poor boy was wanting. Spencer took note of Nate's deep breathing, his slightly flared nostrils, a touch of blotchy redness at his neck and his cheeks.

Spencer shook his head with a quiet grin. Nate was out of it—floating on a mild delirium, bordering on priapism. Spencer's touches became lighter and lighter until he was barely touching the boy at all. He ended the impromptu massage therapy session with a kiss to Nate's forehead.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up. Can't have you going out there all greased up and glistening. Or can we?" Spencer waggled his eyebrows, which made Nate snort with laughter.

"Did I tell you you're funny? Because you are," Nate reiterated as he pushed himself up and got off the bed. Spencer took him by the hand to the shower.

"You first, gorgeous," Spencer said. Nate looked at him, slightly puzzled. His face said everything, and Spencer sighed and snickered. "I've had my hands on you for an hour and a half."

"And oh, what big hands they are," Nate joked. Spencer rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well, if I go in there with you, I'm definitely gonna eat you. I don't wanna mess up your mojo, so come on! Let's go. We'll get you a bite and we'll drop you off for your warm-ups, okay?"

"Aw, you gonna see me off to school? With a bag lunch?" Nate batted his eyelashes and attempted to give Spencer the "big eyes" look that kids use to entrance their elders. He was being a pest and he knew it. After the past few days, it felt good to feel something other than horrifying shame and inhuman degradation. He took a sharp inhale to dispel his thoughts of the dark things before they threatened to ensnare him.

Spencer dipped his head down slightly and shut Nate up with a kiss. "Are you always this annoying when you're playful?"

"Playful? Shows what you know. I was trying to be a jerk."

Spencer gave the boy a playful swat on the butt. "If that's you being a jerk, I think you're off your jerk game." Before Nate could respond, Spencer slapped a hand over the blue-eyed stud's mouth. "Take a lukewarm or cold shower. I'll have some water out for you when you're done, okay?"

Nate was not about to take "no" for an answer. He took Spencer's hand, refusing to release him until the both of them were soaked. Spencer gave in, and Nate smiled.

The two showered together. Beneath the spray of tepid water, Spencer quietly tended to Nate. He massaged the young athlete as water cascaded over them. He gently soaped and scrubbed every inch of him. Spencer's touches turned playful, licks, nips, kisses here and there. It made Nate smile—right up to the moment Spencer whirled him around and slipped a soapy finger past his battered ring. If there was one fortunate side effect of being electrocuted in and on his most sensitive areas, Nate realized he was tighter than he had been after being raped by Owen.

That tightness translated into cringes and flinches. Those physical reactions caused the finger to still.

"Did I hurt you?" Spencer asked quietly. Nate grimaced and nodded slightly. "Was it from... Oh. Oh god, I'm sorry!" Spencer withdrew his finger slowly. He hadn't thought about the repercussions of double-penetrating the poor guy.

Spencer was aghast. He pressed a deep kiss to Nate's pert, firm, dimpled cheeks and continued to do so up Nate's spine, his neck. When he stopped, Spencer turned Nate around slowly.

"If anything hurts... If I'm hurting you, please tell me," Spencer said. "We got really crazy that night. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Nate nodded again. He crushed his eyes closed and kissed Spencer. It only took a second to realize he hadn't gotten hard at all.

It could be a physiological response to the pain that happened just before the kiss. Or, maybe he really wasn't gay after all. Though after the two weeks of his punishing, degrading ordeal, much had changed, and to Nate, being gay wouldn't be a problem in the slightest. Because of Spencer, Nate knew that not every gay guy was a cruel, vengeful asshole like Troy.

In his own asshole days before his former friends had took it upon themselves to "teach him a lesson", Nate remembered how he was happy to tar all non-heterosexuals with the same tainted brush. His unkind, cutting words came back to haunt him so much, so frequently. But the lessons he learned from the evil inflicted upon him really showed Nate the error of his ways, and then some.

But like any happy, healthy human being, Spencer wanted someone to love, just like any straight person would. Nate could see that, and for Spencer, he sorely hoped that he'd get everything he wanted.

Spencer took over the kiss, demanding but gentle. Nate played along, even though he wasn't aroused. Spencer was special. Nate would do a lot to make the guy happy. Spencer pulled back with a grin.

"I'm sure your coach says to abstain from... well, all of that stuff we just did. I say if you've had release, you won't be frustrated on the court." Spencer waggled his eyebrows. Nate laughed, as much as he could laugh. "I know you're not into butt-stuff right now" (which made Nate laugh even more, despite his pains) "but I really want to get you off. Can I do that for you?"

Nate nodded, which spurred Spencer to his knees.

It was strange in this time that his brain and body were sending so many conflicting messages. On one hand, Nate really was enjoying himself with Spencer. He'd never given his sexual encounters so much effort before—and not in a bad, dragging-on kind of way, but in a driven, anticipating unexpected sensations kind of way. At the same token, there were times when Nate could kiss the tall and tan, handsome blond and get zero response from his "other brain", so to speak. He couldn't quantify or qualify the sensation, other than Spencer made him react like...

He had no frame of reference. He never had friends like Spencer. At some point, without being a sexist dick, Nate knew that relating to women had a rather finite limit, and vice versa with women relating to him. He had no one to blame but himself for that. But with Spencer, there was more than just relating. The boy cared for him as both a lover and a friend, not one over the other—and such things before now just didn't seem possible to Nate.

His brain and heart had been maddeningly unhelpful in the internal dialogue that was Nate's doubts about himself. More than less than unhelpful, in fact, in trying to give closure to the question of his own place on the spectrum of sexuality.

Nate let the sensations flow through him. Without Spencer slipping anything into him, Spencer pushed a lot of buttons that triggered the primal, physical reactions not connected to desire. As the passive member of the moment, All Nate had to do was submit to those reactions. He didn't close his eyes and try to think of girls he fucked. He didn't imagine the mop of blond hair belonged to a busty, smooth-skinned, sexy supermodel. He just closed his eyes to focus only on feeling. He focused on letting the feelings wash over him. Within a few minutes, Spencer's mouth on Nate's cock, his sac, his taint, his groin, his nipples, fingers, neck, lips—the sensory overload he provided threw Nate over the edge, shooting like a series of champagne corks. Spencer had refused to let a drop go to waste. He sucked on the crown of Nate's cock insistently, pulling every dollop of the boy's precious nectar into his mouth. He manipulated his fingers, sliding and brushing over every sensitive area of Nate's meatus, his groin, his sac until he had his lover practically clawing at the walls and squealing. Spencer took him past the threshold of sensitivity and danced on the other side until Nate finally begged him off. At that point, Spencer closed in on Nate's mouth, and shared the hunky lad's essence with him. Both lapped at each other's mouths until there wasn't a drop left to spare between them.

Nate smiled as his breathing finally evened out. Spencer really liked his snowballs.

"So, you're good now, right?" Spencer asked with a wink and a smile. Nate chuckled, hugging his lover close.

"It was alright," he said, shrugging. Spencer pushed Nate's shoulder, incredulous but playful.

"Jerk!" Spencer cried. The two shared a laugh together and stepped out.

The boys got dressed and checked out. With the weekend coming, Nate had nowhere he wanted to be. His usual affair of hanging with the guys had long since lost its luster, and he wanted to avoid any place where Owen, and in truth, the rest of the team might be. Spencer invited Nate to hang with him through the weekend, and the young man gladly accepted.

Nate parked his car in the family garage. He pulled together a quick protein shake (no bananas) and downed it. Spencer would grab a bite while he was at his warm-up session. Nate gave Spencer a quick peck on the cheek before sending him out the door while he waited for his parents. He got into his basketball uniform and packed a change of clothes in a backpack. He made it downstairs just as his parents walked in from the garage.

"Hey son!" Nate's dad said cheerfully.

"We promised you some news, didn't we?" rejoined his mother.

Nate eyed his parents with suspicion. The odd text, the over-enthusiastic greetings—something was up.

Nate turned to his parents. "Okay, what's going on? You're starting to worry me."

"Oh, it's nothing like that," Marsha hastened to assure him. "You know how I've been feeling, well, a little under the weather of late?"

Nate nodded. He still didn't see how that was meant to be reassuring.

"I honestly didn't think it was possible anymore," she continued. "So, I didn't connect the dots at first. But when I finally went to see the doctor, it all fell into place. I'd had these symptoms once before, oh, 19 years ago. Oh dear, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Nate stared at his parents uncomprehendingly. "Yeah kind of."

Mitchell decided to put his perplexed son out of his misery. "She means morning sickness, Nate. Your mother's having a baby."

"Surprise!" said Nate's mom. "You're gonna be a big brother!" She put a hand on her son's face, beaming with joy.

Nate was stunned. The past two weeks have been nothing but shock, surprise, shame, and suffering—but this revelation was a bit of every one of those feelings.

"Are you ... are you sure?" he blurted out.

Marsha nodded. "We've done all the tests. We didn't dare to hope either until the doctor confirmed the test results. It's early days yet - your little brother or sister isn't due until late December - so we didn't want to tell anyone for another couple of months, but we thought you deserved to know first since we didn't want you worrying every time I have a bout of morning sickness."

"She can have rather severe episodes during the first trimester – like when she was pregnant with you," explained Mitchell.

Marsha caught the concern on Nate's face. "Sweetie, what's wrong? It's a perfectly manageable condition. I just need to stay hydrated."

"It's not that." Nate struggled to find the words to express the warring feelings within him.

"Are you worried about no longer being an only child? I know you've been our one and only for so long—but I remember you always wanted siblings. You used to ask us why T.J. and the other kids had them, but you didn't. You do still feel that way, don't you?"

Nate's hair stood on end. He was on the verge of a full blown panic. The news at first made him smile big, seeing how it made both his parents come alive for once. But the ramifications followed—Nate would be a brother. He'd be the oldest. He'd be one of two kids in the Ramsey family, and his little sibling would be a chance to do it all over again. Especially if Nate ever became enough of a disappointment for them to warrant a tabula rasa end to their relationship with him. Nate reached out and pulled his mom close.

"Of course, Mom. It's alright. I mean, it's cool! This is amazing news, Mom. But is it safe? I mean, you're not old or anything, but I am eighteen, and the baby..." Nate's concerns registered in his parents' collective mind.

"I can't lie, hon. There are some things I have to avoid. I'm... Well, I'm older," Marsha said with a blush, acknowledging Nate's concern. "Because of that, and because of past complications, I've got to be very careful. No stress, for starters ..."

His parents dominated the conversation as they drove him to the meeting before practice. His stomach was already in knots before this. He rather wished they'd waited until after the game to drop a bomb on him, when all the stresses would be over. When he got out of the car and banged the roof gently, he waved his parents off as they went out for dinner, and he went into the mouth of the wolf.

*** *** *** *** ***

Wes. Jason. Troy. Drew. Ethan.

The very people Nate never wanted to spare a thought for again had to be there. It set him on edge, knowing he'd have to deal with them. His only consolation was that it was only for today. After the championships, he'd do everything he could to just... disappear from school as soon as possible, as much as possible.

The only one missing was Owen. For that, Nate felt relief. He didn't feel like he could face his cruelest tormentor again.

Nate turned to face the five boys sitting at an outdoor table. All the fun and happiness he'd had in the hours following his visit to Montrose Farm leeched out, and what remained was the fear and his ever-ratcheting anxiety. Nate steeled himself as best he could and approached warily. A spot was open on the edge next to Wes.

"Do you need to sit?" Wes asked, cautious not to make anything sound like a demand or an order. He meant it when he said the game was over—but from what Troy told him, Nate wasn't ready to believe anyone. At all.

Nate shook his head with his head downcast. "I'll stand, thank you, master."

Wes shook his head and shook his hands, palms out, with a sense of finality. "Nate, no—I promise. We're not doing that anymore. Everyone's on the same page."

Nate lifted his head to see all five teammates murmur in agreement. Still, Nate remained quiet. The only sound at the moment was the cars going by, along with a hint of pedestrian activity here and there. Being that Nate had nothing to say, he wouldn't open his mouth to entertain any ideas.

"You and Zarowsky still hanging out?" Troy asked, genuinely curious.

Nate stared at Troy for a moment. He was still unsure if traps had been laid out for him. "Am I not allowed to?" he deadpanned, emotionless and plain. Troy looked sufficiently silenced.

"Nate," Wes spoke. "I'm... I'm glad you're here. I just wanted us to clear the air and apologize."

Nate resisted the urge to retort, to roll his eyes with disbelief. Wes read the signs, though, and hastily added more in his meager defense.

"It was never supposed to go that far," Wes said. "We only wanted to fuck with you, not fucking put you in a wheelchair or anything."

Nate's brain and his fight-or-flight response were slowly but surely kicking in. His eyes scanned around for exits, easy egress to escape this lot. He kicked himself for not driving. A car would have been ideal right now. Nate's brain was filtering through the words, trying to make sense of the message that diametrically contradicted the gang's actions for the past fourteen days. His heart hammered, and all he could do was keep his eyes downcast. He hadn't realized that his cheeks were streaked with tears.

"Nate, say something, please," Wes said, closing in on Nate slowly. Nate backed away, no longer allowing himself to be penned in by these bastards again.

"You're all fucking with me right now," Nate rasped. "I'm gonna walk away, then you're all going to pull me back and force me to strip down and streak through the quad with a dildo in my ass before the game, or force me to jerk off and cum in the away team's locker room before they get there!" His throat still felt sore. Every time he swallowed, he had an unpleasant, stinging reminder of how he'd nearly lost his voice in the wake of Owen's torture.

Wes shook his head and held his hands up in a sign of surrender. He wanted to laugh, but something changed when Owen went where he did. "We're not, Nate. It's over. You don't have to worry." Wes pulled out his phone and thumbed at it for a moment before he showed it to Nate, who flinched at the movement.

The look on Wes's face at Nate's flinch spoke volumes of remorse. Wes steadied his hand and spoke softly. Nate's eyes slid up to the phone, though his head was still tilted down. His body language screamed of distrust, understandable anxiety, and fear of the possibility they'd try to hurt him again.

Wes grimaced in his head. He couldn't blame the guy.

"Look," the team captain said. He added, "please" to soften the request.

On the screen, Nate saw the website in the address bar. He looked at the page, which gave the standard Internet phrase for missing or non-existent pages. The page that held all of Nate's shame from the moment he got naked in the park, to the gangbang he suffered when they first forced many, many things up his ass, to his bareback, double-penetration with Spencer, no longer existed. None of all that archived anguish. Nate pulled out his own cellphone and verified for himself that all their evidence had been erased, deleted. When he saw for himself that it was, a sob burst from him.

"I was sure to run the page and all the data through a few file-smashing programs," Drew said, attempting to offer solace. "It's all gone. Nothing will show up, even in a cache snapshot."

Nate shook his head, unbelieving. "You guys still have your phones, videos, pictures." He sounded paranoid, but rightfully so. "You're still fucking with me."

Wes wanted to shake Nate—but that might just send him running. "Nate, please, believe us. It's gone. After what Owen did to you, we all knew things had gone too far. We're sorry. I'm sorry! We need you!" Wes realized he'd raised his voice when Nate shied away from him. With everyone focused on their former whipping boy, despite not threatening him at all in this moment, Wes kicked himself inside for turning Nate into such a fearful, mistrustful, agitated and sullen shadow of himself.

Nate had truly become a victim, and they, his bullies. They wanted to take him down a few pegs, but at this moment, they threw him off the ladder and dropped the ladder on him.

This Nate was far-removed from the boy Wes had a crush on. The look was still there, thanks to the gang's insistence on keeping their prey fit and trim for their abuses, but the light representing any desire for friendship, sportsmanly camaraderie, or even passing acquaintance-hood that was Nate's had been snuffed out completely.

Had they gone any further, Nate could have been a mindless shell, devoid of passion or personality, stripped of utterly any dignity or recognition of self. A mere, barely human receptacle for sexual emissions, liquid waste, spite-loaded spit, sexual and physical abuses, and crushing vulgarity.

It was a dark path they all had set upon. Wes knew that ending the degradation was the right thing to do.

Wes stood up and reached out to gently put a hand on Nate's shoulder. He felt a tremor. Shit, they probably gave the guy PTSD. Probably? No. They had. Wes cringed inwardly at the thought. In the back of his mind, he knew just how horrible the team had been, but didn't stop to consider the collective horror they hammered into Nate, metaphorically and physically. "We're sorry, Nate. Truly sorry. If there was any way to make it up to you ..." Wes took Nate's face in. There wasn't.

Ethan picked that moment to ask, "Are you sure you're up to playing tonight? You can't keep freaking out-" was all he got out before Troy sharply elbowed him in the ribs.

But the damage was done. Wes saw the wheels turning in Nate's brilliant blue eyes.

Nate assumed this was the real reason they were being kind. "That's it, isn't it?" Nate groaned. "You guys are playing nice until the Championships, but when it's all over and I help us win, you're gonna start fucking me all over again!" Nate was pushing it. His voice was practically gone, and he was still pushing it. There were occasional squeaks of his actual voice, but everything else came out in harsh, grating scream-whispers. While he'd spoken with Spencer and had virtually no problems, clearly, the stress of being with his ex-masters was close to boiling over, taking its toll on his voice.

"Nate," Troy said, trying to calm him and placate his clear and warranted mistrust. "Hey, look. I'd say you'd learned your lesson, right? We're just calling it even and letting it go."

Nate's jaw popped open in a face of shock and awe. He was somewhere between laughing and crying. "Even? Is that what this was? I was a real shit. A prick. A bully. I know that. I hurt a lot of people with the things I said. So to get even with me—even!—you had me stripped naked and paraded me around in public, blackmailed me, drugged me, gang-raped me, poured cum down my throat, pissed down my throat, fuck me in public places, whored me out to strangers, fisted and double-dicked me, and fucking ELECTROCUTED me. Even? In order for me to get even, I'd have to send you all to fucking prison, because I couldn't do all of that shit to you all by myself!"

Nate's abusers winced at the laundry list of crimes they'd committed while Nate took a moment to calm down. "You guys taught me a lesson, alright. I know I fucked up. I know I was a prick. To gays, to people I thought weren't as good as me. Thanks to you, you taught me that gays are not the disgusting perverts who should be put down. Going by the last two weeks, I'd say you motherfuckers are." Nate swept an angry pointed finger at each of his tormentors. "You guys could have just beat the shit out of me, and I'm sure I'd have gotten the point. But this? All this?" Nate pointed at his body, the tattoo on the small of his back. "You're a bunch of fucking sick, psycho rapists!"

Troy had opened his mouth to say something. Instead, he opted to close it, chastened, and remain silent instead. Nate was right. They could paint this any way they wanted—but at the bottom line? Every one of them committed rape. Plain and simple.

Drew and Ethan stared at the table, Jason looked to Wes, and Wes faced in Nate's direction but wouldn't actually look him in the eye.

"If I'm really free, then I don't want to be around you fucking assholes anymore. Don't worry. I'll play in the game. I'll play my ass off. But when we're done, I sure as shit won't be staying here longer than I have to, from tonight to the day we graduate." Nate wiped his eyes, his face. A fire burned in him—that of righteous anger. But rather than go into it, he thought of what was ahead: a shot at a scholarship, a well-deserved win after the season Nate helped set in motion, and the prospect of ending his relationship with a team of monsters with a bang.

Nate turned to Wes with an indignant sneer. "I'll warm up by myself, Captain. See you before the game." Nate left as quickly as possible without running. Any faster, and he felt like he'd trigger an instinct in his predators to give chase.

*** *** *** *** ***

The boys remained at the table, watching Nate all but sprint away. A moment of silence flourished into a few minutes, when Ethan was the first to say anything.

"You guys all heard him say, `prison', right? Do you think he was serious?" All eyes fell on Wes, who shook his head.

"He could be. And he'd have every right to do go to the cops. If it were me..." Wes cast a look at the other four guys. "If you put me through every single thing we put him through, I don't think I'd hesitate. Nate's being... kind to us."

The guys were quiet. Wes spoke up again.

"It's better to do what he asks and stay out of his hair," Wes said. "Maybe he'll let it pass."

The guys stayed silent.

It seemed like the best thing to do. Wes got up, and with a quiet motion, signaled the boys to follow him into the gym.

*** *** *** *** ***

Nate stuck to one side of the gym, using one of the four practice baskets aside from the main two at the long ends of the court. For an hour, he tried to focus, clearing his head of anything and everything but the ball and the basket. He saved his strength—choosing to be mindful of his form rather than working up a vigorous sweat. When the team joined in, they took the other side, and with only a few questioning glances and a firm word from Wes, they left Nate alone.

While Nate would be outside of any teambuilding drills, he didn't care. His ability to play along wasn't the issue.

About ten minutes before the doors would open to the crowds, Wes flipped the switch that pulled the practice hoops up to the rafters. Nate wiped his face, his neck and chest, and then his arms and drank water to cool off. Spencer's hands had done an excellent job of shoring up the aches and pains of the afternoon before. At the moment, despite the run-in with the gang, despite his parents' life-changing news, Nate actually felt rather Zen about what was to come.

"Nate!" Nate turned to see his parents walking up to him. They were the first to arrive. When they approached, Marsha threw her arms around her son and laughed. Mitchell wore a similarly enthusiastic smile. A hand gripped Nate's shoulder, and he knew right away it was Spencer, giving him a friendly side-hug.

"I saw your parents wandering around," Spencer said. "You look like your parents. Well, your dad, but you've got mom's eyes." Spencer winced and hoped that didn't sound flirty to Nate's parents. But judging from the look on the Ramseys' faces, they were swept up in their joy to care.

"Mom, Dad, this is my buddy Spencer," he said, giving the guy a warm side-hug in return. He hated that he said buddy—not because he wanted Spencer as a boyfriend, but because he didn't want to disappoint him. But the subtle grin and wink the tall and tan, blond boy gave him showed no flinches of disheartenment.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Ramsey, Mr. Ramsey!" Spencer said kindly. Marsha laughed brightly.

"Oh honey, please. Call me Marsha!" Nate's mom said with a smile. "And that's Mitchell. We remember you from last week!"

Some pleasantries were exchanged as Nate led them to where he wanted them to sit. They were near the top of the risers, at the middle. It was the best view of both ends of the court. When they settled, Marsha gave Spencer a kindly but awkward request.

"Spencer, it's lovely to see Nate's friends. He hasn't had any over to speak of since... well, since—"

"Since the Powell boy," Mitchell offered helpfully.

The Ramseys were alight with chatter, though Nate clearly had something on his mind, from Spencer's standpoint. He surreptitiously nudged Nate, who gave him a look in return.

"Something wrong?" Spencer asked so that only Nate could hear.

Nate hesitated. "Mom's pregnant," he mumbled. "I'm not gonna be the only one anymore. It's gonna be a fresh start."

Spencer wanted to reach out to Nate, to hug him. He knew all too well what Nate had been thinking. Being an only child had its advantages for him with his own family and his sexuality. With another kid on the way, Spencer knew Nate was worried he might not have the support he'd need if there was a sibling to effectively replace him.

Spencer gave Nate a friendly pat on the back. It was the best he could do in the moment. Nate gave him a grateful look. "We'll talk later," Spencer said in a low voice. Nate nodded, and headed down the risers to the locker room.

*** *** *** *** ***

The squeak of sneakers on the court fell silent for an inordinately long time as the basketball sailed through the air. It noiselessly floated, and all eyes were on it as the ball slipped past the ring and rustled against the inside of the string basket the ring held up.

Fans cheered as the buzzer hailed the end of the game. The score, lit up in bright green LED panels, read 82-73.

One player was lifted up by his teammates as they touted him around like the hero he was. On any other day, Nate would have enjoyed it.

But this day, it was Wes's time for the adulation of the crowd. Nate was happy not to really fuck things up for the team. He was treading water until Wes pulled out three shots in rapid succession from just outside each 3-point line.

They were the last nine points of the game. Nate, through both good fortune and distracted mistakes, managed to keep the team hovering at a tie, but a tie wasn't a win, and that's what the Marlins were after.

The game started off on the wrong foot long before the team arrived for the warm-up. First the pre-warm up pow-wow with those who had a hand in ripping him open and degrading him utterly. Then Nate's baby-bomb news, coupled with the revelation that he wasn't going to be an only child anymore. The weight of the possibilities might as well have been tied around his neck like a millstone.

He glanced up at his parents. At Spencer. Nate remembered Spencer was an only child, too. It had played a huge factor in his parents accepting him for being gay.

A pillar of hope had slowly crumbled apart in Nate's mind. As an only child, there was potential leeway for his parents to accept him if he was anything other than heterosexual, accept the things done to him, if need be told. He still had questions without answers, but his parents' support meant everything to him. But with another child...

Nate struggled with the fear that any revelations of his sexuality, whatever it may be, would lead to being cut off from the people who were supposed to love him. They'd have a new beginning in his unnamed little sibling, clearing their conscience of their potential abandonment of their disgustingly perverted first-born son.

Those thoughts were another player on the court. They chased Nate around, causing him to miss passes, stumble foolishly, and flub more than one throw. He made up for his mistakes, though, which is why the team wasn't going to lose. But with him at the lead, the team wouldn't be winning, either. He caught sight of Spencer in the seats. Regardless of Nate's fumbles and falls, Spencer cheered him on energetically, as did Nate's parents.

Wes's spectacular save had been filmed. As the crowds began returning to their seats to see the highlights of the Marlins' year, Wes's video had hit social media big time. There was a lull around the huddled team that Nate drifted on the periphery of—a lull broken by Wes's joyous, surprised, tear-jerking cry followed by loud whooping sounds and a primal "Yeah!" He'd received a full scholarship to the university of his choice from a scout looking for the next king of the college-league court. Nate grabbed a towel and dried off. He then walked into the stands, into a hug from a guy who changed his life for the better.

"You were awesome," Spencer said, talking into Nate's shoulder.

"I was okay. Wes was the hero today." Nate looked over his shoulder at his captain. Wes's eyes met with his. After a brief second, Wes gave Nate a thumb's up with a serious but sincere face. Nate nodded in return.

Nate moved past Spencer over to his parents. After they congratulated him on the win, on his playing, Nate gave Spencer a little smile as he sat down and joined the group. Marsha hugged Spencer, gushing over college and how she hopes Spencer's helping him make the good decisions, while Nate commiserated with his father how he really wasn't the hero of the game.

Coach Reilly stepped out with a microphone, and soon his voice filled the stadium, requesting everyone take their seats for the highlights reel from the Marlins' successful season. Nate sat between Spencer and his parents as a screen rolled down from the rafters. When it fell into place, the video projector turned on.

But it wasn't the highlights reel. It was something far, far different.

Then the sound of a boy moaning as he rode an older, blond boy's dick forced everyone into stunned silence. The video didn't stop there; it intercut at a dizzying pace between different scenes, only lingering long enough for the audience to recognize the participants and grasp what was going on. There were snippets of two sweaty, naked boys making out ferociously, swallowing each other's tongues ... multiple instances of the teenager ejaculating while impaled on cock ... the same boy deep-throating an incredibly long cock with apparent gusto ... the boy burying his face in a furry, blond ass and noisily slurping out the anal juices ... the boy slobbering over a cum-spattered, hairy body, even sucking the sweat from the armpits ... the boy emptying a full condom into his own mouth and downing the dickslop without hesitation... the boy entreating his lover to breed him with his spunk and fuck the cum right out of him ... the boy squealing lustfully during a mid-air pounding where he had his legs wrapped around his fucker's waist ... and then the coup de grace: the boy cooing as his ass was stuffed with raw, live cock and a dildo at the same time ... all the while sporting a dripping erection ...

Nate stared at the screen. Absolute panic and abject terror threatened to implode his heart.

The life Nate hoped to have was finished.

*** *** *** *** ***

The shit has truly hit the fan. Nate's fate is in the air, as are the fates of the rest of the team. More to come in Chapter 18!

Feel free to hit me up with your comments, your questions, your praise (hehehe) or your critiques. (Be gentle, this is a first for me!) kitfortier@gmail.com

If you'd like to drop the original author a line, Jax is happy to read up on what you have to say! jax.cooper@yahoo.com

Also, please be sure to send some love (and donations) to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html. The hundreds, maybe thousands of stories you read here would not be available without the people at Nifty.org at the helm!