Date: Thu, 8 Jun 2017 21:01:30 -0700
From: Alex P <alexp336@gmail.com>
Subject: A Closer Shave - Part 6

Turns out, long flights are useful for finishing new chapters of dirty
stories - just as long as you don't have a nosy neighbor reading over
your shoulder. Judging by most of the emails I got, you enjoyed
getting acquainted with Tommy and Andrews again. I also had some very
thoughtful feedback about how important it was that Tommy vanquish his
"coach demons", which I'm grateful for. Hearing from you all is the
best.

Now for part 6, and it's time for some good old-fashioned honesty,
even if that can make you uncomfortable.

If you like it, let me know. alexp336@gmail.com or through
http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/ (where you'll also find other stories and
such). If you're interested in "Jock Auction" or "The Hitchhiker",
there are details at http://www.AlexPendragon.com/

Otherwise, play safe, donate to Nifty if you can, and enjoy...


===========

A Closer Shave - Part 6


Tommy had to admit, Darren's plan was pretty good, considering he'd
had about sixty seconds to come up with it. From the look of lingering
fury on his face he was more pissed about what Coach Collins had done
than Tommy himself was.

"So, do you think Andrews will go along with it?"

Now there was the big question, Tommy thought. The older swimmer had
certainly seemed angry when he'd told him the real story about Coach,
and he'd said enough to imply this wasn't the first time Collins had
tried something on with a student. Clearly, Andrews had been under the
impression that Tommy was a totally willing participant, just as into
what had been going on as Collins himself was.

A shiver of doubt flexed down Tommy's spine. Had he been willing? He'd
tried not to think too closely about what had happened in Coach's
office, even though he knew that avoiding it was not the most mature
strategy. But he certainly remembered his dick being rock-hard at the
time, and for all he recalled trying to say no, he hadn't put up too
much of a fight when Collins had pushed his cock into Tommy's mouth.

Could he have wanted it? Tommy's body hadn't seemed to argue too much
with the sexual feelings flowing through it. And yet although he'd
felt unusually submissive with Carl and Ben in the showers, on his
knees with their erections rubbing across his face, their cum in hot
spurts splashing down his cheeks, it was a different type of
submission. Tommy couldn't put the difference into words, but he could
feel its reality in the feelings at the pit of his stomach.

"Dude, so what do you think? Will Andrews play ball?"

Darren was staring, and Tommy realized he must've spaced out for a
moment. He shrugged, a little helplessly.

"I don't know. I mean, I think he would. Maybe." Darren frowned.

"You said he liked you, yes?"

God, there was another big question. Tommy felt like he should be
writing a list of them. "I mean, I said I liked him," he hedged.

"And he took you shopping, and he's blown you... I kinda think you'd
have to like someone to do that."

Darren's logic was potentially solid, and Tommy had to resist the urge
to cling to it like a lifeline. "He did say he'd be interested. Like,
if I turned out to actually like guys, y'know."

The "I won the argument" smirk on Darren's face was a familiar one,
though Tommy thought this was almost certainly the first time it had
been about the depth of a gay guy's affections.

"So ask him. Tell him the plan. If he's interested in you then he's
going to want to nail the fucker just as much as I do." Darren's
enthusiasm was contagious. Even if catching it usually meant the pair
of them got into trouble.

"Okay," Tommy conceded, "I'll ask him."

Darren fist-pumped the air, then held out his outstretched hand.
"High-five, partner!" Tommy shook his head in mock dismay, but
high-fived him all the same.

"Um, dude," Darren said, grimacing at his palm, "your hand is all sticky."

There was no embarrassment left in Tommy's body, it felt like; all the
blushing had drained him completely. Laughing, he mimed jacking off
above his towel-covered crotch.

"I told you that you should knock and wait," he teased. Darren's face
creased up in horror.

"You fucker!"

---

Darren had stumbled out of the room, holding his hand outstretched as
though it was a green tentacle that had suddenly sprouted from his
wrist. Tommy could only imagine that he was speed-walking to the
nearest restroom sink.

Not that, frankly, Tommy was in much better a condition. His climax
might have been interrupted, but that didn't make it any less messy,
and the perfunctory wipe-up with the towel Darren had thrown him had
done more to smear the cum around than actually clean it up.

A shower was in order, therefore, and Tommy ditched the sticky towel
and grabbed a clean one from the shelf. The last clean one, he
reminded himself. At some point he'd really need to do some laundry;
he couldn't just keep going out with Andrews and buying new clothes
instead of washing the ones he had!

With afternoon classes still in session, the hall outside his dorm
room was deserted. Tommy risked a barely-dressed dash from door to
bathroom, having pulled on an old pair of boxer shorts that would
suffice to keep him decent even if they weren't exactly in the first
bloom of cleanliness themselves.

The bathroom was a fairly small, communal affair. Intended to be
shared by the dozen or so guys on Tommy's corridor, it had a row of
three sinks on one side and a bank of shower cubicles on the other.
Unlike the changing rooms at the pool, there was at least a modicum of
privacy to be had: dividers separating each showerhead, and a white
plastic curtain that could be drawn across the front.

Hanging his towel on a hook by the curtain rail, and dropping his
boxers on the floor, Tommy yanked the plastic across and turned the
faucets. A private bathroom would've been nice - even if his father
had decried it as needless pampering, and refused to cough up the
extra required for such an upgrade - but the hot water was seemingly
endless and that was the most important thing. With no line of guys
each waiting until the last moment before morning class, he was free
to take his time, too.

Before long, hot needles of spray were digging into Tommy's shoulders,
and soapy rivulets were winding their way down his body. He wasn't one
for singing in the shower, but humming under his breath was a
different matter. Just a vaguely tuneless, looping song that echoed
pleasingly within the tiled space.

As had been the case for the past week, he couldn't quite stop himself
from lingering between his thighs. The smooth skin there might not be
quite as silkily barren of hair as it had been once Andrews had
finished with it, but the faint prickling of new growth - which, Tommy
had to admit, was starting to get a little itchy - was almost as
enticing to his hands. Add in some soap, and the sensations were
magnified tenfold.

It came as no surprise when Tommy's cock started to harden, then.
Dangling straight out from his body, as his fingertips slipped into
the gap between his inner-thigh and his balls. So far he'd resisted
any urge to jerk off in the showers while away at school - the risk of
getting caught, as mortifying as that would be, was sufficient to
dampen any ardor and send him back to the privacy of his room to
finish matters - but suddenly that resolve was weakening.

His fist gently sliding down to encircle his erection was
near-unconscious, then, as was the guttural sigh that Tommy exhaled.
He might have only cum a fairly short time ago, but the details of
that climax - the thought of begging Andrews to fuck him senseless -
were still at the forefront of his mind. Although he wasn't sure he
could ever actually say that to the older swimmer, he couldn't deny
the fact that the thought of doing so was proving to be a major
turn-on.

Maybe it was the humming, or getting so caught up in the swollen
inches filling his grip, but Tommy had clearly tuned out of what was
going on around him. Enough that, when he glanced to the side while
flicking water out of his eyes, the realization that he was no longer
alone in the bathroom was a shock like ice water.

Through the gap in the curtain that he'd carelessly drawn he could see
the back of one of his dorm mates. Stood at the sink, it looked like
he was getting ready to shave. Tommy wasn't sure who it was - someone
with short dark hair, a blue t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts,
along with flip-flops on his otherwise bare feet - and couldn't really
risk moving around to try to get a better look and figure it out.

His hand, he suddenly remembered, was still tightly gripping his cock.
Moving, even; long, languid strokes from root to tip. Tommy knew he
should stop, but the sensations were too much, too pleasurable.
Pulling his fist away would've been like refusing water from a thirsty
man.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, enjoying the shiver of
stimulation overload when his roughened palm brushed firmly against
the head of his dick. If he was quiet, he reasoned, desperate not to
give up those feelings unnecessarily, surely he could finish up
without detection? Better, even, to do that than to try to walk out of
the bathroom with a clear and obvious erection that he knew wouldn't
want to go down without its conclusion, no?

While his brain was struggling with the internal argument, his body
had clearly decided either way. One hand pulling on his dick, the
other cupped under his balls, there was no denying that he was
committed.

Opening his eyes again, and glancing across through the partly-open
curtain, and Tommy got his second big shock. Had he just caught his
dorm mate looking at him in the reflection of the mirror?
Instinctively he closed his eyes again, then internally berated
himself for being such a child - what did he think, that if he
couldn't see the guy, then the guy wouldn't be able to see him?

He risked another quick glance. The guy had definitely moved to one
side, and now Tommy was able to partially see his face. Not someone
he'd said more than "morning" to; after only a week he didn't even
know the guy's name. But if Tommy could see him, then surely the guy
would also be able to see Tommy too?

If he had, and he'd seen what was going on in the shower, he hadn't
shown any sort of disgust or horror. That either meant he didn't
realize Tommy was jerking off, or that he thought it was so
unremarkable for an 18 year old that it didn't warrant comment.
Emboldened slightly, Tommy gave himself another long stroke, feeling
the head of his dick swell in response.

There! A tiny movement, sure, but he could've sworn the other guy
turned his head a little. Could it be that, instead of disinterest, he
was actually watching what Tommy was doing with such great curiosity
that he in no way wished to interrupt it?

The unexpected transition from inadvertently caught to being covertly
watched sent a thrill through his body and made his dick twitch. Tommy
wasn't sure what it was about being observed that got him so wound up;
all he knew is that the thought of someone seeing a sliver of his
naked body as he touched himself was making the urge to cum ten times
as strong.

Pushing one arm up against the partition, he leaned forward, guessing
it would put more of him on show through the narrow gap. The water ran
in a heavy stream down his cock, and for a minute he just watched it,
bobbing between his legs. His other hand slid slyly down the curve of
his ass, until his soapy fingers were resting against his hole.

Forehead against the wall now, one hand unable to resist grabbing his
dick and slowing masturbating, while the other eased a fingertip into
his tightness. Legs automatically parting, the sound of running water
loud in his ears as it cascaded down the taut muscles of his back. He
was impaled to the second knuckle now, his hole spasming eagerly as he
gently eased the digit in and out, fucking himself as he wanked.

Tommy didn't dare look across, to see if he was still being watched,
but his body flushed as though the inevitable gaze was white-hot on
his skin. Stifling the moans in his throat, he ground his finger
deeper inside, feeling the stickiness of his precum as it rushed out
in response.

It was too much, the sensations and being on show and the
still-illicit thrill of playing with his ass. Tommy clenched his jaw
as his cock spurted against the wall, his hole clamping so tightly
around his finger it was as though it wanted to snap it off.

Opening his eyes, he watched as the water washed the thick cream down
to the tiled floor. With a palm against the partition he pushed
himself back upright, easing his finger free and feeling the pins &
needles as blood rushed back through legs he hadn't realized he'd been
tensing. Fuck, that had been hot.

One final rinse, and Tommy knew he had to face whatever would happen
on the other side of the shower curtain. Reaching out - suddenly
self-conscious - he snagged his towel from the hook, and tried to wrap
it around his waist in a way that said "casual" not "afraid of being
looked at".

The guy was dragging a razor across his cheeks when Tommy glanced at
him. His eyes followed him across the bathroom.

"S'up," Tommy said, awkwardly. Painfully aware of what skin was still
on show, and what he'd just done, and yet wanting almost desperately
to ask whether the guy really had been watching, if he'd known what
was going on.

"Hey," was all the stranger muttered, though. The slightest nod, his
eyes never leaving Tommy's face. Was he standing closer than you might
to the sink, Tommy wondered? Maybe even pushing an erection of his own
against the hard ceramic? He didn't dare look down to explore the
theory, just reached for the door handle and - questions all raging,
unanswered - left.

Back in his room, Tommy leaned against the door, breathing deeply. The
magnitude of what he'd just done was beginning to sink in, not least
the old adage of "don't shit where you eat." And yet he'd gone from
moving into dorms little more than a week ago to what, possibly
exposing himself - and worse! - in front of a random stranger on his
corridor?

Sure, the guy had seemed interested, but Tommy had to face it: it
wasn't like he was particularly experienced reading these sort of
signs. Yet instead of being aware of his limits, he allowed himself to
get into a crazy situation.

No, not "allowed". "Forced". He'd intentionally pushed his own
boundaries past the point where he knew it was safe. It was
ridiculous, and risky, and completely unlike him.

And, he knew in the pit of his stomach, it was something he could so
easily see himself doing again.

Whatever moment of introspection he was in was shattered by his phone
vibrating loudly on the desk. Thumbing it unlocked, Tommy saw it was a
new message from Andrews.

"Recovered from this morning's exertions?"

Tommy grinned, not entirely sure whether the older swimmer meant the
credit card-busting shopping spree or the more private activities
they'd got up to in the changing room.

"Cut class and crashed for an hour or so," he texted back.

Phone on the desk, he dug through the bags of new clothes, trying to
find something not entirely unlike himself that he could imagine
wearing. Everything Andrews had picked - which basically meant
everything in the bags, because whatever Tommy had suggested was
quickly dismissed as "awful", "a crime against fashion," or merely
with a raised eyebrow that left him with no illusions about what the
older guy thought of his taste - was more what Tommy would consider
"smart going-out clothes" not stuff you'd lounge about campus in.

"Aww, did I tire you out?" Andrews sent back. Tommy chuckled, and went
to punch out a sarcastic reply, then stopped himself.

"Do you think Andrews will go along with it?" Darren had asked, and at
the time Tommy hadn't been in much doubt. Sure, he'd only known the
guy for less than a week - just a matter of days, really - but after
all they'd talked about, all they'd done... surely, Andrews wouldn't
say no?

Then again, he suddenly reasoned, why would the senior take such a
risk? True, they'd been... intimate, together, but from the sound of
it Andrews had no issues finding people to play around with. Was Tommy
reading far, far too much into a couple of blow-jobs?

It was something he couldn't just ask, of course. You can't really say
to a guy, "so, we sucked each other's dicks, we're coconspirators now,
yeah?" For a moment, his heart fell.

And then he had an idea. Something so appropriately devious, he
suspected even Andrews would have to be impressed.

A half-minute's picking through the bags and Tommy had what he needed.
Stood in front of the narrow, full-length mirror on his closet door,
he attempted to muster a critical eye for the low-rise jockstrap
stretched across his hips.

It was quite possibly the least "Tommy-like" item that Andrews had
picked out. In fact, if he hadn't been brow-beaten into submission
through retail overload, he probably would've protested when he saw
it, convinced he'd never actually wear it.

Tilting his hips forward and back, he tried to find the best possible
angle. The chunky red waistband was a bright metallic against his
honeyed skin, contrasting neatly with the white pouch. As he turned,
he could see the narrow red elastic clinging as it arched down across
his buttock.

Eventually, he settled on a half-twist - one foot forward of the
other, which left both his nearly bare ass-cheek visible while putting
his bulge in profile. Opening the camera app on his phone, he snapped
a picture.

"I'm trying to decide if I should take it off," he tapped out, then
attached the photo and hit send. Eyes glued to the screen, he watched
as the tiny "sent" icon turned green, showing Andrews had read it.
Then, before he could reply, he followed up with "the price tag, I
mean," and a slyly-winking emoji.

He bit his lip as Andrews took his time replying. Eventually, though,
his phone buzzed again.

"You'll return them over my dead body," he said, the skull emoji
leaving no confusion.

Tommy smiled to himself, feeling oddly triumphant. "Yessir," he sent
back. "Can I see you later?"

"Sure," Andrews replied, "as long as you promise not to wear your old clothes."

"Deal."

---

In the end, though he'd wavered some still, Tommy had stuck with the
jockstrap, price tag removed of course. On top he'd squirmed into a
pair of grey skinny jeans that Andrews had praised for being suitable
"calve-hugging", and then finished the whole thing off with a pale
blue polo shirt.

It wasn't so much that it was a huge gulf away from the sort of things
he would normally wear. After all, he had grey jeans and blue
t-shirts, it's just that they were a lot less form-fitting. His mom
had always championed a "you'll grow into them" attitude when she
dragged him out around the stores, and he guessed he'd just
internalized that.

The one thing he had no parallel for, mind, was how the denim felt
brushing across his bare ass. The jock hadn't turned out to be
uncomfortable, as such, more something that was hard to ignore. Tommy
was reminded about his skin rasping against the smooth confines of his
jeans every time he stood up, sat down, walked, or even shifted on the
spot.

In fact, the closest thing he could compare it to was the sensations
unlocked after Andrews shaved him. Then, it was the constantly new
sensation of his smooth crotch that had been a repetitious reminder;
now, it was the thought of two red straps neatly framing his butt.

Knocking on the door to Andrews' room, Tommy found he was holding his
breath. On one level it was because he knew he had to ask - no, he had
to persuade - the older youth to help with Darren's big scheme to get
revenge on Coach Collins. All the same, he couldn't convincingly tell
himself that it was solely that which had him wound up.

Andrews had come to represent something altogether new for Tommy: a
gateway into feelings about other guys that he'd never imagined he
could have. He still wasn't entirely sure whether the swimmer had
recognized something in him and liberated it, or just unwittingly
unlocked some level of desires that Tommy never knew he had, but
either way a corner had been turned.

How did Tommy feel about that? Without cutting his best friend out of
his life - because Darren knew, and was unlikely to forget, what had
gone on over the past week or so - there was no rewriting history.
Even if he dropped out of the swim team, ghosted Andrews, and took up
a life of womanizing, he couldn't exactly forget what he'd done, what
he'd felt.

What, he realized - the excitement bubbling in the depths of his
stomach - he was feeling right now, anxiously and eagerly waiting to
see Andrews' face.

So no, whether he turned out to only be with guys, or to throw girls
into that mix too, and settle on some combination that would work
itself out in time, there was no escaping it. "It" being the "gay"
word, or at the very least "bi".

Any further thought was dismissed when the door opened. Andrews smiled
approvingly at the made-over teen, nodding his appreciation. Tommy
turned on his heel, arms held out, modeling exaggeratedly.

"Better?" he asked, already guessing what the answer would be.

"Exponentially," Andrews said, standing to one side so Tommy could
come inside. "The back view is improved, too."

Tommy looked over his shoulder, trying to see what Andrews could. His
only assumption was that he was admiring the way the grey denim clung
so enthusiastically to his ass.

He was hoping Andrews might follow him across the room and initiate
something, but instead he sat down on a swivel chair by the desk and
nodded at the bed.

"You can sit down there, or on the bean bag," he offered, "just be
warned that the bean bag isn't so graceful."

Tommy eyed the oversized black bag doubtfully. It looked like the sort
of thing that would be comfortable but at the same time could suck you
in like a particularly hungry sea creature. In the end, he settled on
perching on the edge of the mattress.

"Probably wise," Andrews said, chuckling. "Want a drink?"

"Please."

There was a mini-fridge under the desk, from which Andrews took a
couple of cans of soda. Tommy took one, gingerly opening it so as to
hopefully avoid showering his new outfit with bubbles. Andrews,
meanwhile, wasn't so lucky, a blast of soda spritzing his face.
Tommy's eyes were glued to him as he pulled up his shirt to wipe off
the spray. Even sitting down, Andrews' six-pack was visible.

Tommy fought the urge to lick his lips.

If he'd thought this was going to be a booty-call, though, he was
quickly reeducated. Andrews started out asking about Tommy's classes
and why he'd chosen the sessions on his schedule, and soon the two
were discussing everything from the professors Andrews admired to
which place on campus had the best pizza.

It was when Andrews was digging through a stack of books, trying to
find a particular novel that Tommy had heard of but never read before,
that Tommy realized just how much he liked the older guy. Not merely
in a sexual way; not just because of some mutual physical attraction.
Andrews was interesting, and quick-witted, and had a smoothly
sarcastic humor that was so playfully teasing it made even the most
pointed comments feel friendly rather than barbed.

Tommy felt slow in comparison, but if Andrews saw the same he didn't
seem to have a problem with it. Indeed, everything about his body
language - even as naive as Tommy was at reading it - looked to imply
he was enjoying the company just as much.

"Shit," Andrews said eventually, glancing at his watch, "I have an 8am
seminar tomorrow, and I still haven't finished the reading for it."

Tommy looked at the clock on the nightstand - it was well past
midnight. With a jolt, he realized that he'd completely forgotten
about his grand plan to get Andrews on his side.

How do you seduce a guy? If Andrews was a girl, Tommy supposed, you'd
flatter her about how pretty she was, and tell her she was so very
interesting. Was the same thing meant to work on a gay guy? Or was
Tommy missing something a lot more obvious?

His original scheme had been to show up after his flirtatious text
message and rely on Andrews taking the lead. Instead, Tommy was going
to have to take matters into his own hands, and that was uncharted
territory.

Time was running out, though; he could only guess that Andrews would
at some point suggest that he needed to get on with his work and for
that he'd need the room to himself. Slowly, he leaned back on the bed,
until he was resting on his elbows. A glance down his body confirmed
that the polo shirt was hugging his torso in what Tommy hoped was a
beguiling manner.

Casually spreading his legs a little more, he looked across the room
at Andrews. "It's been really fun hanging out with you," he ventured.
"I hope I haven't been boring you."

Andrews smiled. "Not at all," he demurred. Tommy flexed his thighs,
feeling the tight fabric of his jeans pull around the bulge at his
crotch.

"And did you like the photo?" It wasn't terribly subtle, but Tommy
wasn't willing to bet on being able to send more surreptitious signals
without them passing Andrews by completely. Sometimes, he decided,
blunt was best.

"I think you know that I did," Andrews told him, his smile shifting
into more of a knowing smirk.

Tommy slowly rubbed a hand across his stomach, feigning
absentmindedness but knowing that he was exposing a few inches of
caramel skin in the process. "I'm still wearing them now," he pointed
out.

Eyebrow raised, Andrews nodded. "I can see that."

Looking down, Tommy saw that a bright slice of red waistband was
visible above the low-rise jeans. He grinned, bashfully.

"Do you... want to see more?"

He was holding his breath again, he realized, waiting for Andrews' answer.

"Do you want to show me?"

The ball was back in his court, Tommy figured, and if he was going to
get anywhere with Andrews he'd need to be more proactive about it.
Carefully he unsnapped the top button of his jeans, feeling the tight
denim pull the fly apart as he purred down the zip.

"It only seems right," he pointed out, "since you were so helpful in
getting me into them."

Nothing from Andrews, just a loaded silence as Tommy pulled himself up
a little more on the bed, feeling the comforter on his bare cheeks as
the jeans were slowly tugged down. One hand now holding his shirt up,
trying to clench his abs as much as possible while simultaneously
trying to make it look like he was doing nothing of the sort, Tommy
stared down at the show he was putting on.

"I might need your help," he ventured, nodding down at where the denim
stretched around his thighs. Still wordless, Andrews stood up and took
the few steps that closed the distance between them. "Just pull,
okay," Tommy instructed.

Andrews carefully took hold of the waistband and, as Tommy lifted his
hips, began to drag the jeans down. It wasn't exactly the most
graceful process Tommy had ever seen, but he was more focused on the
fact that the position meant his junk was pushed conspicuously forward
at the older swimmer.

Eventually Andrews prevailed, standing upright again and looking down
at where Tommy was sitting on the edge of the bed.

He felt exposed, but at the same time Tommy knew he couldn't let
himself react to that as he normally might. Instead, he intentionally
spread his thighs, feeling the heat of Andrews' gaze as it traveled
across his groin and up his body.

"What do you think?" he asked, holding eye-contact. Andrews smiled again.

"I think it's interesting to see you being so forward."

Tommy pouted, then ran a hand across his bulge, squeezing. He felt a
quick thrill of triumph when Andrews' attention instantly flicked down
to watch, even if only for a split-second. It was working!

"You like me, don't you Andrews?"

As the older youth considered his reply, Tommy traced the outline of
his half-hard cock through the white cotton of the pouch it was
pushing against. Lifting one foot to the edge of the divan, he could
envisage in his mind's eye just what Andrews would be able to see. The
long, smooth run of his inside thigh to the place where his junk was
tightly enclosed in fabric.

"Do you want to touch me?" he continued, filling the silence. Andrews
didn't reply, but he did slowly drop down until his knee was between
Tommy's legs, braced against the mattress. When they made contact with
the soft skin of Tommy's thigh, his fingers were cool, their touch
firm.

"Yeah," Tommy half-whispered, "do it." Andrews' hand slid along from
his knee, until his fingertips were nestled in the crux of Tommy's
groin. He couldn't help but lift his hips in response, his own hand
dropping away as Andrews' replaced it. Palm first brushing over the
shape of Tommy's dick, then slipping underneath the curve of his balls
until his fingers found the join deep between Tommy's legs where the
elastic straps of the jock met the bottom of the pouch. Gently but
insistently pushing underneath, until Tommy could feel the man's touch
on the sensitive skin there.

If his fingers dipped further down, Tommy knew, they'd graze his hole.
Further up, and Andrews would have his hand on Tommy's erection, which
was now straining eagerly at the pouch, hoping to be freed. Tommy
wasn't sure which he'd prefer, the thought of the sensations from
either was near-overwhelming.

"We're friends, right?" he said, quietly. "And friends help each other
out, yeah?" Andrews' smile was the only reply, but then he felt a long
digit push down between his cheeks, until a fingertip was resting on
Tommy's ass. He couldn't suppress a full-body shudder.

"Are you trying to manipulate me, Tommy?"

Andrews voice was low, friendly, but the question was enough to send a
chill through him.

"What... what do you mean?" he stuttered.

Looking up from where his finger was tracing tiny circles around the
boy's opening, Andrews stared into Tommy's suddenly fraught
expression.

"All this. The jockstrap and the writhing around on my bed like you're
a Playboy centerfold. Squeezing your dick as though you're posing for
your tumblr. You're clearly putting on a show, and I'm wondering what
the price for it is."

Tommy's skull felt like it had been flooded with ice, but his
traitorous cock was too busy reacting to Andrews' hand. The swimmer
was pushing now, applying just enough pressure to Tommy's hole to slip
the very tip of his finger in.

"I... I just had a question," he managed.

Andrews nodded, slowly, thoughtfully.

"You didn't think you could just... ask?"

The argument in Tommy's brain was raging. Should he simply tell
Andrews what he and Darren had planned? Was it better to pretend this
had all just been some hormone-driven sex thing?

"Just ask, Tommy."

Eyes squeezed shut, Andrews' finger half-sliding into his yielding
hole, he found himself blurting out the truth.

"I wanted you to help me catch Coach Collins. I had a plan... well,
Darren had a plan, but we need your help."

Andrews' hand was suddenly still. "Catch him?"

Still not trusting himself to open his eyes, Tommy nodded. "Yeah,
catch him. It wasn't right, what he did. I thought I'd deserved it, or
that it had to happen, but it was wrong. And I thought that maybe...
that maybe you..."

A hand on his shoulder. Tommy opened his eyes, discovered that Andrews
was leaning down over him. A look of almost surprised concern on his
handsome face.

"You're right, what he did was wrong, Tommy. And even though I wish
you'd just asked me outright, you know I'm in."

It took a moment for Tommy to find his voice. "I just thought..." he
started, paused to figure out the right words amid the growing miasma
of shame. "I worried that you might not really care."

Down between his legs, he felt Andrews' hand leave him. The sudden
sensation of emptiness was more emotional than physical. Tommy knew
his entire expression must be one of pleading, but he couldn't figure
the right magic words that would tell the older guy how he was
feeling.

"Are you even into me?" Andrews' voice was strangely brittle, and when
Tommy built up the courage to look him in the eye again, he thought he
could see some of that fragility there.

"Of course I am," he insisted.

"Because if you're doing all this just to... to get my help, because
you know I'm attracted to you..."

Tommy didn't even think consciously, automatically reaching up and
wrapping his arms around Andrews' shoulders and pulling him in close.
As their mouths met, he felt the resistance there in Andrews' lips,
just for a moment, until they yielded to the kiss. Tentative first,
then with a growing passion until Andrews broke away, pulled back a
little, his breathing heavy.

"I'm so attracted to you, it's scaring me," Tommy admitted, watching
the mingling expressions of doubt and hope flutter across the other
swimmer's face. "Even if you told me you didn't give a damn about what
Coach Collins had done, even if you said you thought I'd brought all
that on myself, I'd still have trouble not getting hard when I was
around you. Feel how hard I am right now."

He pulled Andrews' hand to his crotch, pressing the palm against his
throbbing erection.

"A week ago it was like I was walking around still with the
shrink-wrap on, and now I feel like you've torn all that off and all I
can think about is how I want to kiss you and how badly I want you to
fuck me." He'd thought the words would be difficult to say, too
embarrassing to admit to Andrews' face, but in the moment there was no
reticence or shame. Just the burn of wanting the other man to know
where his heart, where his body were, and a longing that Andrews would
feel the same way.

Fingers still gripping Tommy's erection, Andrews let his head dip down
again, until the tips of their noses were just touching. Tommy closed
his eyes.

"We can talk about Coach later, about your big plan and how I help in
it. For now, I want to focus on the fact that I have this amazingly
gorgeous guy on my bed."

Eyes still shut, Tommy smiled. He snaked his arms around Andrews'
shoulders, feeling the muscles there tense and flex. Suddenly he was
aware of the coiled power, how much strength Andrews had, and it awoke
a new type of hunger in him. Tommy had always envisioned sex with a
girl, when he'd ever considered it, as some careful, fragile tryst,
all awkward restraint lest the passion get the best of you and you do
some sort of damage. Somehow, he knew that he needn't hold back with
Andrews, and that in turn the other swimmer would pull no punches of
his own.

"It's weird to hear you say that about me," he confided. When he
opened his eyes, he saw the plain expression of lust on Andrews' face.
"I never saw myself that way."

"Let me show you exactly how I see you," Andrews murmured in return.

Hands pulling, he stripped Tommy's polo shirt up, over his head,
before taking off his own in turn. Kneeling up on the bed, in the gap
between Tommy's thighs, he towered over him, a symphony of smooth skin
and muscle that drew Tommy's eyes like an irresistible magnet.

How could someone like this find him attractive? Tommy knew what
Andrews had said, and yet the doubts set in again when he saw just how
beautiful he was. Yet the hunger he himself was feeling was mirrored
in the other man's face.

"From now on, I want you to tell me what it is you want," Andrews
instructed, not unkindly. "No more autopilot. No more sneaky games.
Even if it makes you self-conscious, I want you to say it. This only
works..." he broke off for a moment, gaze raking over Tommy's body.
"This only works if we're upfront about what we're asking for."

There was a lump in Tommy's throat, a manifestation of his reticence,
and shame, and uncertainty. Concentrating, he tried to swallow it
down. This was it, he knew. This was the tipping point he'd been both
terrified and obsessed with.

"I want us to do everything."


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

"Everything," eh? Whatever can Tommy mean... Let me know what you
thought... alexp336@gmail.com