Date: Mon, 9 Dec 2013 22:40:09 -0800
From: Alex P <alexp336@gmail.com>
Subject: A Closer Shave - Part 3

Part two was a cliffhanger, and what a cruel man I was for leaving you
waiting. It's taken me longer than expected (yes, that's the story of my
writing life!) but part three is finally done, taking Tommy further out of
his comfort zone. I'd almost say he gets himself into some hairy
situations, except we all know he's taken care of that already...

I completely neglected to thank my ever-helpful proofreaders, Andy
and Daniel, for their hard work on part two as well as this latest part -
thanks guys! And big thanks to Shawn, too, for his help with inspiration.

As always, comments and feedback gleefully received - you can
catch me on alexp336@gmail.com

A.

============================

A Closer Shave - part 3

Trying to put on a t-shirt, and jeans, when you're still damp from the
shower and increasingly frantic about getting kicked off a team you've
only been on for a week was, Tommy observed with rising panic, neither
the easiest thing to do nor something particularly conducivea to
calming down. He could feel the tightening knot of anxiety in his
chest, a growing physical pain that had started when Coach Collins
first called out his name, and had been building ever since. Maybe, if
he'd been a stalwart of the swim team, he'd know the coaches well
enough to understand their moods and whims, but right now Collins was
an enigma and one who hadn't exactly given the impression of being
happy with the new freshman.

Ramming his feet into his sneakers, Tommy slammed his locker shut and
- still stuffing things into his bag as he stumbled across untied
laces - tried to move as quickly as possible to the coach's office.
Round the corner from the small row of rooms where Andrews had worked
his shaving magic the previous Friday, the office was somewhere Tommy
had only been once before, when he first stopped by to sign up to the
team.

Then, he'd been more interested in making a good first impression to
really notice anything about the room or, for that matter, any of the
three coaching staff who used it. Coach Collins was the youngest, he
knew, not to mention the quietest; he generally brooded on the
sidelines, leaving the heavy-duty shouting to his colleagues; Coach
Anderson who was a brittle, ostensibly cheerful man in his late
forties or fifties, and Coach Jepson who seemed to use gruffness as a
way of appearing older than his actual age, which Tommy pegged
somewhere in the mid-thirties.

Tommy stood outside the door and wondered if he should knock and wait,
or just go in, eventually settling on a compromise of briefly knocking
and then immediately opening it. Coach Collins was stood with his back
to the door, leaning over a desk and working on some papers; he didn't
look back when Tommy stepped inside.

"Close the door, Tommy," the older man instructed, and Tommy eased it
shut, suddenly conscious of the noise he was making. "I'll just be a
moment."

He didn't say to sit down, and Tommy didn't want to tempt wrath by
doing so uninstructed, so instead he stood with his hands clasped
behind his back, bag between his feet. Eventually, Collins turned
round, leaning back against the edge of the desk with his arms folded.

For a minute or two they watched each other, Tommy not daring to speak
and the coach simply staring. "So how are you settling in on the
team?" he asked, finally. Tommy gulped.

"Well... okay, I think, coach" he stuttered, resisting the urge to
fidget under the man's serious gaze. "I mean, it's still early and
all, but..."

He petered out, glanced down at the floor. Collins nodded, slowly.
"But... you don't know if you'll be good enough to keep up with the
other guys, or if you can fit in swimming around your schoolwork, or
something else?"

"I guess all of them," Tommy admitted. He risked a glance up, but
found Collins still wearing the same blank expression. "I didn't
really know what to expect."

Collins grunted his understanding, nodded again. Was that the hint of
a frown forming in the middle of his forehead? Oh god, Tommy thought,
don't let him be angry with me.

"It's a tough one, Tommy. Most of the time none of us know what to
expect. Sure, we can get a transcript of a new guy on the team, and
usually a list of his best times and such, but the guy himself? That's
a mystery up until the day he walks into our locker room."

Collins stood up, picked up his jacket, which had been slung across the
desk, and walked around Tommy to hang it on a hook by the door.

"So we don't know if we're getting a team player, or a liability, or
the guy who will take us through sectionals and regionals and all the
way, or someone who's signing up for all the wrong reasons." He
stepped up to Tommy's side. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Tommy shook his head. He really didn't. "Not really, coach."

The older guy sighed, leaned in a little. "We don't know if we're
getting someone who's only interested in being on the team because he
likes to strut around the locker room and get up to shit in the
showers."

The clenching feeling in his chest had been joined by iciness in
his guts. Shit. Shit oh shit. Had Collins seen himm Ben, and Carl, and
what they'd been doing? He'd assumed the coach had simply come in
and found him after all of that had happened, but now... was that what
Collins was hinting at?

"I don't... I mean, I'm not sure..." The words fumbled out of his
mouth, jumbled and confused, but Collins interrupted.

"Let me tell you what I see, Tommy. I see an eighteen year old with a
bit of natural skill, walk in through those doors and sign up on day
one, and then less than a week later he's strutting around with his
junk out, making a spectacle of himself, and getting up to some
conspicuously intimate and inappropriate things with other guys in the
showers."

Oh... shit.

"I'm going to lay it out for you, Tommy. I walk into the locker room
tonight and I find our new guy on his knees in the showers, jerking
off two of my best swimmers, and looking pleased as goddamn punch
while he does it. Jogging your memory?"

Tommy glanced around at Collins' face, and then snapped his attention
back forward again after he saw the look of anger there. What could he
say?

"Look, Tommy." The coach's voice was quieter now, softer. "I'm not
some out-of-it, aging relic. I'm twenty-seven, I understand that
sometimes weird shit happens that you get caught up in. You know the
school has a no-hazing policy, right? I need to know whether those
guys - or any of the guys - have been trying to put you through any
weird initiation crap. Making it so that you need to do it in order to
keep your place?"

Tommy shook his head, not quite trusting his voice. Collins sighed.

"So help me out here, will you? Because right now I'm seeing a kid
who's shaving off all his hair and waving his dick around, and giving
out hand-jobs to seniors, and that's not the sort of distraction we can
afford. Or am I missing something that you can explain to me?"

Deep breath. Try to swallow, even though your mouth and lips are dry.
Try to explain before things go too far.

"They weren't forcing me, coach... but... I guess I don't know what
was happening. This is all so new, and... different, and things just
seem to have escalated so quickly."

Collins nodded, watching Tommy's face closely.

"So why don't you tell me how it started."

Tommy could already feel himself blushing, but he still began retelling
the story of how his hair issue had been pointed out by one of his
teammates, and how Andrews had been suggested as ideally suited
to help fix it. He left out the part about how Andrews had got him off,
of course.

"So how do we go from ill-advised grooming to... what I saw going on
today?" Collins pressed. Tommy fought the urge to wring his hands.

"It wasn't planned, coach. We just got talking, and they were
interested in what had happened, and then... I dunno, I guess it's
hormones or something. I... I don't understand it myself, really."

A pause, as the stern looking coach apparently considered the vague
explanation. Tommy kept his eyes fixed resolutely on a spot on the
carpet a couple of feet between them.

"Look, Tommy. We're not just responsible for your performance on the
team, y'know, we're also responsible for how your health is holding
up. Physical and mental health. So we need to make sure that you're
not being manipulated, and that you're not putting yourself at risk,
okay?" Tommy nodded, still not looking up. "So, I have to make sure
you've not hurt yourself - or that Andrews hasn't done something to
hurt you - after the week you've been having. Make sense?"

Tommy wasn't sure exactly what the coach was talking about, but it
sounded undoubtedly better than being told he was off the team and in
disgrace. Collins took his quiet as agreement.

"Okay, so I need to check things over to make sure you're not infected
down there or anything. Did Andrews use any antibacterial stuff when
he finished up?" Tommy shook his head. "Right. So you need to get
undressed and get up on the couch, please."

Get undressed? Up on the... oh, no, not again! Tommy felt his stomach
twisting in knots; he was almost reconsidering his previous belief
that whatever Collins had in mind would be better than getting kicked
out. The older man was just watching him, arms crossed, a look of
"take no shit" on his face, and obviously had no time for arguments.

Tommy slipped off his t-shirt, struggled back out of his jeans. He was
dry, for the most part, but that mainly meant that whatever water had
been on him had transferred to his clothes, making removing them a
struggle. He almost tripped and fell while trying to pry off a sock,
Collins having to quickly step over and grab his arm to hold him
upright.

"Lean on me, yeah?" he said quietly, fingers gripping Tommy's elbow
tightly, their forearms pressed together in the process. Tommy could
feel the heat coming off him. Collins was taller than him, wider,
quite obviously a strong guy and in great shape; there was something
intimidating about him, too.

When he was down to his boxers, he paused, but the coach showed no
indication of moving away. Another deep breath, then he pushed his
shorts down to around his ankles and tried again to not flinch at
being so exposed.

Collins didn't stare, though. Instead, he placed a reassuring hand on
the small of Tommy's back, pushed him gently toward the paper-covered
couch by the wall. "I know it feels weird, buddy, but we have to get
through this, okay?"

Tommy clambered up onto the squeaky frame, folded his arms across his
lap in a way that he hoped wouldn't look like he was pathetically
trying to hide his junk. The coach walked over to a cabinet and
started rooting around inside.

"Y'see, Tommy, when you shave stuff - especially stuff down there,
between your legs - you can end up cutting yourself, even small cuts
you can't actually see. They can get infected, and that's something
you don't really want to happen, yeah?" Tommy nodded, but Collins
wasn't looking over, still engrossed in the content of the cabinet.

Eventually, he walked over with a plastic tub. "This is antiseptic
cream, okay? It'll take care of any cuts or grazes."

Collins put the tub down on the couch, next to Tommy, then reached
down and gripped the boy's ankle. "Up we go," he muttered, almost to
himself, lifting Tommy's foot until the heel rested on the edge of the
seat, before doing the same with the other leg. Tommy was forced to
lean back, shoulders against the cool wall.

He felt... exposed again. Incredibly exposed. Coach was right up
between his legs, and basically everything Tommy had was on display -
he knew the older man would be able to see everything. Panic started
to seethe in his chest.

Cracking open the lid of the tub, Collins looked up, between Tommy's
thighs to make eye-contact with the boy. "I need you to hold onto your
knees, okay? This is going to be over real quick."

Knuckles white as he gripped his legs as instructed, Tommy watched
with open-mouthed, mute horror as his coach scooped up a gob of the
translucent, glistening cream and ran his fingertips across his
abdomen. He couldn't quite resist a hiss as the cold hit him, then the
feel of Collins' hands running down, across the sensitive skin where
his thighs joined his groin, and up under his balls.

"Andrews did you everywhere, eh?" Collins said, a half-grin on his
face, but Tommy couldn't reply, couldn't bring himself to speak or
even nod. It didn't seem to matter, though; the coach's slick fingers
were on his balls, and then circling around the base of his shaft, and
then finally smoothing the cream along the length of Tommy's dick.

"I heard what Carl and Ben were talking to you about." Collins said,
voice suddenly quieter. "About how being shaved would make you
look bigger." Tommy watched with wide eyes as Collins' fingers dipped
down, until they were easing cream into the splayed open crack of the
boy's ass. Fingertips tracing cooly across his hole, sending his brain
hurtling into memories of how Andrews had fingered him.

"Please, coach, I don't..." he grunted, willing his cock not to
respond but watching as it betrayed him all the same.  It started to thicken
where it lolled between his legs, beginning to stretch upwards on its
way to full erection.

Collins rested his other hand on Tommy's inner thigh, and wrapped his
fingers around the base of his hardening dick. "Andrews did a good
job, didn't he? Picked you out of the crowd real quick." Tommy
squeezed his eyes shut as the wet grip stroked slowly from root to
tip, palm closed tightly around the head of his cock.

"Coach, please..." he started, sending Collins chuckling.

"Oh yeah, now look at you." His fist tightened on the tip of Tommy's
erection. "So desperate for it, aren't you." Now his other hand
slipped down, fingertip circling around Tommy's entrance as the boy
whimpered and shook at his touch.

"Coach, no, it's not... I'm not..." Tommy tried to explain, but
Collins was having none of it. He pushed his finger against the youth
until he opened his eyes.

"I know exactly what you are, kid, okay? Knew it from the moment I saw
you shaking that big bare teen dick around the locker room. Knew it
before I caught you trading handjobs in the shower. Sometimes you just
spot a slut in a Speedo as soon as he steps out by the pool, and I
spotted you."

Tommy groaned, head spinning. He wanted to protest, to tell the coach
that he had it all wrong, but the sensations radiating out from
between his legs were overwhelming, pushing rational thought and the
screaming of his conscience to the sidelines. He watched as Collins
placed a hand on his chest, pressed him down so that he was lying on
his back, the coach still gripping his swollen dick like a joystick.

Collins fumbled one-handed at his tracksuit, pushing the waistband
down until it caught at mid-thigh. Tommy looked across, hypnotized by
the thick length, trapped and bulging in the swimsuit. The coach tugged
down until his cock sprang free, hard and eagerly pointing toward the boy.

"This is how it's going to work, Tommy," Collins explained, voice low
and serious. "You're going to open your mouth and you're going to suck
me, right? No bullshit, no dumbass protests that both of us know
aren't real. You get one chance to redeem yourself or it's fuckin'
game over, yeah?"

Tommy wasn't sure if he was shaking his head or nodding, but it didn't
seem to matter to Collins; the coach leaned forward, pushing his cock
down, until it was an inch from Tommy's lips.

"No bullshit," coach murmured, and Tommy opened his mouth, dipped his
head forward to close the distance, almost on autopilot as Collins'
prick grazed across his tongue.

Coach's cock was fat, meaty - thick enough that Tommy wouldn't be able
to wrap his fingers around it, and have them meet, anyway - and it
quickly filled his mouth, the pronounced flare of the head grinding
roughly across his twitching tongue. All the time, Collins' hand kept
up a slow, squeezing rhythm around Tommy's glans, the slippery cream
mixing with the now steady ooze of the boy's precum.

"That's right, Tommy, you're doing great. Wrap your tongue around
it... you want to make me feel good, don't you? Want to convince me we
did the right thing putting you on the team?" Tommy grunted as his lips
stretched around the steely girth of the man's prick. "Shit, yeah,
you're a fuckin' natural, just like I knew you would be. Fuckin'
cocksucker lips teasing me all week."

Tommy groaned, his body's betrayal - despite everything he knew he
should be feeling, he was overwhelmingly aroused by the feel of his
coach's long dick nudging at his throat, the musky smell of the man's
close-cropped pubes filling his nostrils - battling against his
instinctual reserve. He knew he'd been manipulated, that were Collins'
actions made public it would be him, not Tommy, who was in trouble,
but the urge to satisfy an authority figure was taking dominance.

"Now swallow down on it, and try not to choke," Collins' instructed,
and as Tommy gulped he bucked his hips forward until the boy's gullet
was pulsing around the swollen tip. The young swimmer's eyes were
watering, but his coach was relentless, jabbing his dick inside and
grunting at the fluttering feel of the clinging flesh massaging it.

"Andrews told me all about you, Tommy," the older man confided. He
looked down, winked at the boy. "He told me about your little shaving
game, how you were all too ready to play with him. And then to find
you already making a move on the other guys on the team... fuck, boy,
you're a dirty little slut, aren't you?"

Tommy moaned, despair and horniness in equal measure, as the shame and
the excitement of it all took over his body and rocked it with jolts
of forbidden pleasure. Collins' fingers had begun tracing long
strokes, down the underside of Tommy's smooth cock and across his
balls, dipping between his splayed cheeks and eventually tapping at
his hole, before making the journey back up again. With the memory of
Andrews' finger in him, it was all he could do not to push his hips
down and hope that coach would catch on.

He was sucking cock, and sucking cock was gay, but Tommy couldn't stop
himself, even if Collins' had allowed him to. Less than half an hour
ago he'd had two cocks in his hands, cum blasting across his cheeks. Now
it looked like his coach wanted to do the same down his throat, and he
couldn't bring himself to rebel, to say "hang on, this isn't who I am."
Instead Tommy ran his tongue against the swollen length invading his
mouth and tried not to sound too slutty as he did it.

Then coach was pulling his dick free, slapping it wetly against
Tommy's lips, his cheeks, his nose as he chuckled at the boy's
attempts to recapture it in his mouth, all pretense at reticence gone.

"Play with your nipples" the man directed, and Tommy reached up and
pinched, tugged at the dark brown little nubs, rolling their hardness
between his fingertips as Collins left smears of juice and spit across
his flushed face.

"Andrews told me about how you lost your mind with his fingers up
you," Collins sneered, fist wrapped tight around the base of his shaft
as he rubbed the pronounced head against Tommy's features. "I bet
you're imagining me fingering you now, aren't you."

The boy whimpered, but he didn't stop torturing his nipples or trying
to catch his coach's wet glans between his lips again. Collins
chuckled.

"Can't say I object to opening up some virgin freshman meat, though."
Again, his fingers slid down between Tommy's legs, until the tips were
twisting against the swimmer's tightness. "Jesus, I can feel you
tryin' to get me in you."

Tommy opened his mouth wide, tried to look up at the muscular guy with
as much "feed me, please!" telegraphed through his expression as
possible. It must've worked, too, as Collins tipped his hips forward
and let the full length of his cock slide in, until it was lodged
again in the boy's throat. At the same time, just as Tommy was trying
to process how he was meant to breathe and suck and generally not pass
out from a mixture of oxygen deprivation and lust, the coach jabbed
two fingers roughly into his ass.

He squealed, muffled by dick, and bucked on the hand that was
relentlessly pistoning into him, Collins wasting no time in stretching
and teasing the innocent hole while making short, jabbing thrusts into
the teen's throat. Tommy's cock slapped and twitched, precum making
slick trails against his sweat-sheened skin.

"Play with my balls" coach ordered, and Tommy complied, reaching out
with one hand and cradling the older man's heavy nuts as they rocked
between his legs. They were smooth, almost as smooth as Tommy's own
shaved crotch, and he concentrated on kneading them while Collins
fucked his face.

The incredible arousal - not only from what the coach was doing to his
naive body, but what he'd done in the showers just before - was
building to a fever-pitch. Tommy desperately wanted to reach down,
grab his cock and flail at it madly until he blew his load, but he
instinctively knew that he wasn't allowed to touch until Collins gave
permission.

Tommy's body wasn't so concerned with permission, though, and as
Collins' fingers nudged against his prostate he felt his groin go into
overdrive. Reaching down, still slurping around the thick meat
stretching his face, he grabbed the coach's wrist and yanked it up
close against his body, forcing the two probing fingers as deep as
they'd go.

His dick went off like a firework, cum blasting across his chin, his
chest, his stomach, as the hands-free load pulsed out of him, thick
and wet. Tommy could smell the cloying sweetness of it. Collins'
turned-on response was to jackhammer his face, the freshman
swimmer became a little more than a hot, slick hole for the dominant
man's pleasure.

Collins smeared his hand through the cum across Tommy's chest, then
pumped at his shaft, glazing it with juice that was promptly fed into
the youth's own mouth. Tommy could taste his cream, the musk of it
mixing with his coach's precum, and then Collins was shuddering
himself as he reached his own climax.

Tommy felt the head of the man's cock swell and looked up to see the
coach's eyes screwed closed, teeth clenched, and then it was the
shocking gush of cum at the back of his throat, Collins pulling back a
little so that the next few shots pooled on the eighteen year old's
tongue.

"Holy fuck" Collins gasped, sliding his sensitive glans through the
slime-coated mouth, letting his fingers fall out of the boy's
hole. He looked down, to where the young swimmer's lips were still
pulled taut around his thick shaft, thin trails of cum leaking out the
sides and down his chin. Pulling his cock free, he slapped it against
Tommy's face, snorting with laughter at the look of dazed surprise in
the boy's eyes.

Then his hand was on Tommy's throat, fingers gripping, pushing his
head back against the vinyl of the couch, as his other fingers scooped
up jizz from the youth's cheeks, his chin, his chest and stomach.

"Open wide" he instructed, punctuating the command with a squeeze of
the boy's gullet, before feeding the cream into Tommy's gaping mouth.
The young swimmer could feel the cooling spunk trickle down his
tongue, then Collins' fingers were digging inside, as the coach wiped
off the last dregs.

"Well fuck, kid!" he muttered, breathing hard. Tommy fought the urge to
squeeze his eyes closed as he tried to process what had happened,
tried to comprehend the tastes in his mouth and the sensations still
radiating out from his body. "You're an eager little fucker, aren't
you?" Collins threw a towel onto Tommy's chest, yanked up his
swimsuit and sweatpants.

He wiped his hands against his ass, giving the youth a
casual look over. "I can see what Andrews was talking about, now," he
concluded.

Tommy looked across. "What do you mean?"

Collins grinned at him. "He told me you were about five minutes and a
little self-doubt from getting fucked." Tommy could feel himself
blushing; he started to sit up. "And having seen how you like your ass
getting worked over, I think he's probably right."

"Can I get dressed, coach?" he asked, quietly, eying the pile of his
clothes on the floor. Collins nodded.

"Sure, it's probably time you were getting out of here anyway.
Practice was over a long time ago."

Tommy resisted the urge to point out that he would've been gone at
least twenty minutes earlier, had Collins himself not delayed him, but
he focused instead on pulling on his boxers, his jeans, and his
t-shirt.

When he was dressed, albeit a little bedraggled, he stood at the door
with his hand on the handle. "Are we done, coach?"

Collins looked up from his desk. "For the moment, Tommy, yeah, we
are." He leered a little at the boy. "Maybe you should come see me
next practice, so we can make sure that no infections have set in."

All he could do was force out a tight nod and then escape, snatching
up his rucksack and hurrying through the door and out into the cool
darkness. His body was beginning to ache, both from the swimming and
from the clenched tightness the anxiety of the past hour or so had
mustered in him.

Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. The cafeteria should still
be open, so he could at least avoid pizza; Darren was an addict, but
Tommy knew that over-indulging at night would leave him regretting it
the morning after.

As he glanced again at the screen, he noticed the text message icon blinking.

It was Andrews. Sent just after practice had finished.

"We need to talk," was all it said; Tommy found himself re-reading it
over and over, and then jammed his phone back in his pocket.

What could Andrews want? After the madness with coach Collins, he
wasn't exactly feeling charitable toward the older swimmer - the fact
that he'd told Collins everything that they'd done together didn't say
much about his discretion. At this point, all Tommy really felt like
grabbing was a snack and curling up in bed; maybe taking another
shower after the exertions in the coach's office.

Yet he found himself slipping out his phone again, and reading
Andrews' message for the umpteenth time, and - fingers almost on
autopilot, somehow - thumbing out his dorm room number in reply, and
hitting send before exactly what he was doing - and, indeed, how it
might be interpreted - could sink in.

---
Maybe, then, it should've been no surprise when there was a knock on
his door about an hour or so later. Tommy had grabbed a sandwich from
the cafeteria and taken it upstairs, the remaining bread going stale
with the wilting lettuce on its cardboard plate as he struggled through
his math textbook. He stood, warily, and then finally opened the door.

"Let me guess," Andrews said, sweeping in past Tommy and immediately
talking at him. "Collins tried to hit on you after practice." He
wasn't exactly talking quietly, and Tommy hurriedly shut the door so
that the other guys on his floor wouldn't hear - at least, he hoped
they wouldn't.


"He told me you'd said I would be interested," he retorted, a little
anger in his voice. Andrews looked at him with a weary expression.
"Oh, and just because he told you that, you threw your legs up in the
air for him?"
Tommy gasped, unable to control himself. "No!" He could feel himself
sweating, now; just a little, but enough to add to the feeling of
uneasiness that hung around him.

The older youth grinned, slyly. "Sure, Tommy. I bet you put up a real
strong fight when he told you the easiest way to get ahead on the
team..."

Tommy could feel his body shaking now, a mixture of shame and growing
rage. He hadn't invited it, he knew he hadn't! And the coach had made
it very clear that Andrews' comments had given him just the excuse he
needed to try something.

"That's bullshit!" he found himself crying out, his own voice now the
one that was carrying. "This is all your fault!"

Andrews rolled his eyes. "Please. You saw an opportunity to get a
better position without having to put in the work, and you jumped at
it. Or rolled over for it, anyway. What happened, Tommy, did you let
him fuck you for a spot in the first squad?"

Tommy had his fists gripped in Andrews' shirt before he knew what he
was doing, had the older boy pressed up tight against the wall. For a
moment there was a look of surprise on his face, and then he was
pushing back, and quicker than Tommy knew what was happening, Andrews
had spun him around and it was his back that was jammed up to the
plasterboard.

"Listen, kid," Andrews hissed. "You can run your 'poor, misunderstood
straight boy' routine all you want, and you can fuck, suck, or
generally slobber all over anybody you want on the down-low, but don't
get up in my face when I call you on it! Understand?"

Lungs heaving, Tommy nodded. "I didn't... I mean, I didn't let him
fuck me," he managed to gasp, going a little cross-eyed from trying to
focus on Andrews just a few inches away from him. "He just made me...
well... suck him."

Andrews sighed, relaxed his grip on his teammate's shirt. Tommy
realized he'd been clenching his muscles, forced himself to go limp
again.

"Sounds about right," Andrews eventually replied. "He's a fucking
dirty old pervert, that one." He let go of Tommy, took a half-step
back and watched as the boy brushed himself down self-consciously.

"I didn't plan any of this, Andrews," Tommy insisted. He could feel the
tone in the room had changed, the anger and urgent aggression lost.
Now Andrews almost seemed weary. Eventually, the older swimmer
glanced around, then up and down at what Tommy was wearing.

"We're going out. I'm taking you to a party"

---

Tommy had protested. In fact, that was an understatement: he'd started
by protesting that he was tired, then pointed out the stack of
textbooks he was meant to be memorizing, and then finally insisted
that there was no way he was in any fit state to go out with Andrews.
Which made it something of a surprise that he still found himself
following along as Andrews led him across campus, refusing to explain
where they were going or who was actually throwing the party. The
twenty-year-old had briefly dug through Tommy's closet, pulled out a
pale blue shirt, and insisted on the boy putting it on, then
embarrassed him hugely by rolling up the sleeves for him as if he was
some kid who couldn't dress himself.

Now, all he would say was that Tommy would enjoy himself, and that he
should trust him, and that he should really shut the hell up because
all these questions and complaints were getting annoying, and a guy
should really learn when to be grateful that another guy wants to show
him how to have a good time, for heaven's sakes.

So Tommy shut up. And walked.

Eventually, they ended up just off campus, into the first streets
where the school-owned buildings gave way to private apartment blocks
almost universally rented to second-year students or older. Tommy had
assumed it would be easy to tell which was the particular place they
were headed to, but in fact it seemed quite a few people had decided
to celebrate the beginning of term, and several windows were lit up
with obvious revelry. Along the way, they bumped into a number of
people, many of whom clearly knew Andrews and enthusiastically greeted
him, with Tommy doing his best to blend into the background and look
inconspicuous in his uncertainty.

The door they finally stopped at was wide open, spilling thudding bass
into the night. A couple of older guys stood around, smoking, and
squinted dubiously at Tommy as he tried not to bounce from foot to
foot nervously. Andrews seemed to know them well enough, though, and
the pair passed through and onto the stairs without any hassle.

"Don't be an idiot, okay?" was Andrews' final advice as they walked
into the apartment. Tommy was about to ask what he was meant to avoid
being idiotic about, and then he spotted the guys kissing.

Lots of guys or at least, quite a few guys anyway, but definitely kissing. No
girls. Just guys. Kissing guys.

He made the conscious effort to stop gawping and tried to look blasé
about it, as he followed Andrews into the kitchen where a makeshift bar
had been set up, and only glancing out of the corner of his eye at what
was going on around him. Not that he thought there was much chance of
being noticed even if he outright stared: most of the people were
clearly caught up in what they were doing.

Andrews pushed a cup into his hands and looked at him pointedly.
"Focus on not being an idiot, okay?" Tommy nodded, and after a pause
Andrews nodded back.

It wasn't beer, like Tommy had expected, but something else, something
stronger, and after one ill-advised initial gulp he satisfied himself
with tiny sips. Andrews was talking to some people he clearly knew,
though still standing close enough to Tommy that he didn't feel
abandoned, occasionally glancing over to see that the eighteen year
old was still there.

Tommy couldn't stop looking at the gay guys, though. At least, he
assumed they were gay: Ben and Carl had kissed, sure, but only
briefly, and not with the same sort of lingering enthusiasm that these
guys were showing. They weren't being shy with their hands, either,
and Tommy could see at least one person reaching up under his
partner's shirt, and another getting felt up through their jeans.

Perhaps most surprising of all was how uninterested the rest of the
room was in what was going on. Nobody was staring, or whispering about
or even really paying any attention whatsoever. Whereas Tommy had
been to parties in high school where even boys and girls kissing had
been a cause of catcalls and whistles.

Andrews voice at his ear suddenly gave him a start; he hadn't noticed
the older youth break away from his conversation.

"Turning you on, Tommy?" he asked, voice low and purring. Tommy
swallowed, a little uncomfortably. "Just say if you want to give it a
try..."

Kiss Andrews? Tommy hadn't even considered it, but now the thought of
the handsome swimmer's lips smudging against his own was all he could
think about. He'd kissed a girl before, of course, in the usual
fumbling prom dance way... would Andrews be different? More manly and
aggressive?

He couldn't bring himself to reply, didn't trust his voice not to
betray his curiosity, but jolted again as he felt Andrews' hand slip
around his waist. The memory of the youth' fist around his cock, his
fingers twisting in his ass. Tommy wanted to readjust his dick where
it was getting tangled in his jeans, but he didn't dare; he held his
breath as Andrews' fingers carefully stroked across the edge of his
abs.

"You're thinking `hang on, would that make me gay?' aren't you,"
Andrews commented, voice still barely above a whisper. Tommy could
feel his breath, warm on his ear. "Even after everything you've done
today, kissing a guy would be the thing that made you question
yourself, wouldn't it."

Tommy nodded. Andrews was right: he could write of what he'd done with
Carl and Ben as weird, hormone-driven fooling around, and what Coach
Collins had made him do as having been coerced by someone in
authority, but willingly - purposefully - kissing another guy, well,
that would have to say something about his sexuality, surely? At least
cast some doubt onto it.

He heard a chuckle from nearby, looked over to see the group of guys
Andrews had been talking to watching him.
"You want to watch out, kid, he's got a silver tongue that one," one of
them warned, a grin across his face and a slightly drunken twinkle in
his eye. Andrews fingers fluttered against his side; he could feel the
older boy's chin resting on his shoulder.

"This is the latest project, Andrews?" another asked, and the three of
them laughed. Tommy expected Andrews to say something in response but
he didn't, just snaked his other hand around so that it rested, flat,
on his stomach. He fought the urge to tense his muscles, whether out
of discomfort or to impress his teammate, he wasn't sure.

Tommy took another sip, and felt Andrews' lips brush his ear. "Your
mouth would taste of Coke and aniseed," he told him, gently rubbing
across his stomach. "I can imagine it right now."

Did Andrews really want to kiss him, or was all this some crazy tease,
some stupid hazing stunt that would see him laughed off the team if he
actually went through with it? And more to the point, why was the
concern of that the primary thing giving him pause for thought, not
the very fact that he would be kissing another guy?

He didn't think he was gay, but he was tempted, and he couldn't blame
whatever drink Andrews had given him and yet still remained mostly in
his red plastic cup for that. And Andrews was, well, handsome and
definitely fit, and - Tommy was in no confusion about this - someone
who people would consider "a catch" and, if he was going to do
something with another dude, then sure, the 20 year old stud was
probably the best candidate he could think of.

If. If he was. A big if.

And if - if! - he was going to do something, it seemed like here, this
random apartment where people could kiss people of the same gender and
not raise even an eyebrow, would be the place to do it. Even if
Andrews' friends were jokingly warning him off, which Tommy wasn't
really convinced by anyway.

And the feel of Andrews' hands on him was so good, so incredibly good.
He found himself turning without really thinking about it, slipping
around in Andrews' grip so that he was facing the older youth. Andrews
had a look of mixed surprise and pleasure on his face, and Tommy
blushed, happy not to be a foregone conclusion. He let his face dip
forward, and watched as a second later Andrews did the same, until he
felt his lips press, so gently, against the other boy's, then Andrews'
hands more eager at the small of his back, pulling their bodies
together from the hips down, and he was kissing him and being kissed
back.

Tommy gasped, pulled away and glanced around, but Andrews' friends had
gone back to their conversations, and were clearly entirely uninterested in
what was taking place. In fact nobody was looking at them; nobody had
grasped the momentousness of what was happening, and he was still
marveling at that when Andrews pulled his head back in and kissed him
again.

Gentle, first, and then more aggressive, and then his tongue was
duelling with Andrews' tongue and his lips were stinging from where
the older swimmer was nipping, biting at them, and he could feel the
jut of Andrews' erection pushing into his hip and knew that Andrews
must be able to feel his own. Grinding his pelvis forward and feeling
Andrews leaning back into him.

Andrews' fingers traced across the short hair at the back of his head,
thumb hooked under the soft nub of his earlobe, as he pulled back,
resting his forehead against Tommy's.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it?" he asked, and Tommy laughed,
probably blushed again but didn't care.

"Shut up, Andrews," he told him, and then kissed him again, reveling
in the feeling of taking charge of the moment, letting his hands
trace the unmistakably masculine taper of Andrews' back from shoulders
down to narrow waist, fingers eventually resting on his hips and
feeling the warmth of his toned skin through the fabric.

There was no mistaking him for a girl, no mistaking his mouth for
anything other than that of another guy. And there was no way of
missing when Andrews particularly liked the way he worked his lips,
his tongue, and in turn no way Andrews could have missed Tommy's own,
throbbing reaction when the older man bit and nipped at his lips.

When they pulled apart next, both were breathless. "I want to get you
out of those clothes," Andrews murmured in Tommy's ear, a hand easing
under his shirt, fingers strumming at the small of his back. "Come
with me."

Tommy looked around, warily, as Andrews took his hand and led him out
of the kitchen and its small groups of drinking, chatting men, and
down a corridor. Nobody watched them go, though their intention
couldn't exactly have been mysterious. Tommy wasn't sure whether to
cringe at the thought of so obviously hooking up, or to revel
in it.

They ended up in an anonymous bedroom, Andrews carefully shutting the
door and then turning on the lamp on the nightstand. He sat on the
edge of the comforter, looked Tommy over where he stood in the middle
of the room.

"Take off your clothes," he instructed. Tommy's hands were at the
buttons of his shirt, moving on autopilot, before he stopped himself.

"You too," he replied. Andrews grinned back at him.

"Oh hell yeah."

Tommy could only watch - his own buttons momentarily forgotten - as
Andrews pulled his polo shirt up, over his head. His torso was sleekly
muscled, almost ridiculously perfect in its proportions. Then he
stood, reached for the fly of his jeans, but paused as he popped them
open.

"Expecting me to undress you?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. Tommy shook
his head. He yanked his shirt off, and tugged off his t-shirt.

Andrews then stepped out of his jeans. His body tanned and golden in
comparison to the crisp white of his briefs. The bold Diesel waistband
hugged his narrow hips.

Tommy kicked off his own jeans, felt Andrews' eyes rake over his
nearly-naked body. Sure, he'd seen him before - and been seen before -
at practice, in tiny Speedos, but this was different, so much more
charged. Just the two of them, and the knowledge that something was
going to happen between them. Unless he stopped it.

And Tommy didn't want to stop it.

Stepping forward, Andrews closed the gap between them, until Tommy
could feel the heat radiating off his body. Glancing down, he could
see Andrews' cock jutting against the fabric, thick and swollen across
his hip. His own dick was equally eager for attention.

"Last time you told me I had to be willing to play," he reminded the
older youth. Andrews grinned, absentmindedly rubbed his hand across
his bulge. Tommy wondered what it would be like to touch him in the
same way; realized that he could, if he wanted to. That all he had to
do was reach out.

"So are we going to play?" Andrews asked. He was gripping his cock
now, fingers stretching the cotton around its length; with his other
hand, he reached out and stroked across Tommy's shoulder, thumb
straying into the hollow of his collarbone. Tommy dipped his head, let
his cheek rest against the back of Andrews' hand.

"Yes."


============================

I've left you with a cliffhanger, I know. I had a choice of pausing there,
and actually getting another part of the story online while it was a
reasonable length, or of pushing on and potentially ending up not
having something for you to read until after the holidays. Hope you
think I made the right choice.

As ever, let me know what you think at alexp336@gmail.com and
check out the filth at http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/

Oh, and donate to Nifty!