Long Pass Chronicles 02 - Canning the Center (20 page)

And then—
oh yeah
. Soft, warm, wet, all around his rim, tickling, sending shots of lightning into his balls. His butt bobbed like a basketball, trying to get closer to that magic tongue.

Jamal gasped as Trev’s tongue slipped inside him. Sweet God, it was—amazing. That flexible, living, squirming thing slid in an inch, then out, then back in. Jamal held his breath.
Don’t do anything to make him stop
. Nobody had ever tongue-fucked him. He’d been rimmed clumsily when he and a friend in high school had experimented on each other, but never this.
Don’t let it stop
. Slow, creeping heat oozed up his body until his head had to explode.

Trevor’s lips closed around Jamal’s hole and sucked as his tongue kept worming its way inside. “Shit, Trev. Oh my God.” His brains were vanishing through the hole in his butt.

Tongue and lips stopped.

“Nooooo.”

“Shhh.” Trev’s cool, wet finger pressed in and slid out a couple of times. Fit way better now. Then something bigger pushed at his hole.
Okay, more promising
. He peered down in time to see Trevor’s lovely long cock disappear over the rim of his ass as his hole got pumped with hot, stretching, burning, delirious fullness.
Oh yeah
. His lids fluttered closed.

“Open your eyes, Bunny. I want to see what’s happening.”

Jamal opened to see a beautiful, smiling Trevor only inches from his face. He bobbed his head up and kissed those luscious lips.

Trevor grinned. “I think you like this?”

“What was your first clue?”

“All those cute noises you’re making.”

“I thought they were all in my head—holy crap!”

“Don’t you just love your prostate?”

“Ohhhhh yeah.”

“I’m not hurting you?” In. Out.

“Hurts so good.”

“You’re sure.” In. Out.

“Just don’t stop.”

“You couldn’t make me.” His breath came hard, and he pressed forward until he panted in Jamal’s ear. “Love fucking you, Bunny. You could package this ass and sell it online. But I’d never let you. Want it all for myself.”

He sure liked the sound of that.

Trevor laid his head against Jamal’s chest and held onto his arms so all that moved were his pounding hips. “All mine. All mine. All mine.”

Jamal’s brain wanted this to last forever. His balls had other plans. How could they feel like they’d shrunk to raisins and expanded into watermelons at the same time? “Oh God. I’m so close.”

“Me too. You’re like a lava tube in there.” Trevor leaned to the side and inserted one hand between their sweaty bodies. He grabbed Jamal’s cock and squeezed, then lay back on it and let the slide of his body move his hand at the same time. Up, down, in, out. Two kinds of friction playing heaven and havoc on every nerve in Jamal’s body. He’d never had sex this good. Never close.

One more slide over the gland pulled the trigger. “Too much. Gonna come. Oh crap. Gonna come so hard. Oh God!” Jamal’s head stretched back on its own, and his eyes rolled as a blanket of stars fell over his head. He erupted, hot spunk pumping into Trevor’s hand. Each burst sent a convulsion of shivers up Jamal’s back and into his head, blinding him.
The best. The very best
.

Trevor’s husky tenor soared to soprano. “Oh shit, Bunny.” His body froze except for short, half pumps of his hips. “Oh, oh.”

Slowly the Trevor statue collapsed on Jamal’s chest. Jamal wrapped his arms around Trev’s silky back and felt his heart beat while that pale hair tickled his nipples.

Heart. Yeah. He might have fallen for Trevor’s gorgeous, androgynous body, but this felt like more. More heart than cock.

“Bunny?”

“Ummm?”

“That was great.”

“Yeah.”

“Who’d have thought you’d be such a superior bottom?”

“Are you complimenting my ass, Mr. Landry?”

“Every way I know how.”

“My ass isn’t shy. He’ll take all the praise he can get.”

Trev turned his head so his chin rested on Jamal’s breastbone and his big blue eyes stared up. Talk about cute. “That is a perfect posterior. Round, just the right amount of bubbly, so hard you could bounce a quarter off the cheeks, with smooth, hairless skin, like two scoops of mocha ice cream.”

“He’s blushing.”

“Cherry on top.”

Amazingly cool to have someone appreciate him for something other than football. Funny how he hadn’t thought of that before.

“Bunny?”

“Yeah?”

“What should I wear to the dinner Saturday night?”

There it was again. Did he ask a guy who was more heart than cock to lie for him?
Shit
. What a mess.

Chapter 13

C
RAP
. T
HE
party’s tonight.

Jamal strapped on his pads and pulled up the pants. He’d come to the stadium early. Maybe inspiration would crawl out of a locker. So far, nada. The guys had slowly filtered in for the game, and three defensive players grabbed the tight end and carried him to the whirlpool, where they dumped him headfirst. So much for quiet.

Jamal jumped when the locker room door slammed open.

“Shit, I want to kill me some fucking fags.”

Jamal looked up at Boogaloo as the big man lumbered into the locker room with his entourage behind him. A couple of the rookies scattered away from the door.

“Why the fucking hell are those queers allowed to stand out there and say that we got people like them on our team? Every fucking reporter from here to Afghanistan is covering them. It’s sick.”

Jamal gripped his helmet and tried not to throw it. Boogie was really revved up.

Rixby, one of the older defensive players, glanced over from his spot on the bench. “I think you owe the profanity jar a fifty, Boogie.”

“Yeah, well I’ll pay it, a’ight? Maybe I’ll make it a hundred so I can call those assbashers a few more names.”

Jamal shuddered. The picketers had every right to be there, but it sure made it crappy for him. Boogie stayed in a constant state of pissed off, and he whipped some of the other players into his frenzy. Tough to relax and just play football.

When he got his gear strapped, taped, and laced, he walked out of the locker into the tunnel and toward the stadium, nodding to the workers as he went.
Deep breath
. He loved the smell of the grass his dad worked so hard to keep. They used phony turf in the shiny new practice facility, but the stadium had the real thing. When he inhaled, he really felt like Ferdinand the bull, who liked to smell the flowers more than fight, like Ev said.

At the entrance to the tunnel, he leaned against the wall. Far enough back to see the banners and hear the vendors hawking popcorn, but not close enough for the growing crowd to see him in the shadows. The fans loved their football, but not as much as he did. Still, was it worth it? Hiding, lying?

“Jamal.”

He turned and smiled. “Hey, Dad.” He leaned down to hug his father. When he was a kid, “Big John” had been so much larger than life. Now, in his cleats, Jamal claimed four or five inches on him. Too bad he couldn’t grow up as much in other ways.

“We didn’t get to talk again before you left the other night. Trevor seemed quiet toward the end there.”

“Yeah. I thought he was mad, but he was feeling sad about not having a family like you guys.”

“That’s good that he liked us. We all liked him a lot too. A complicated man, I think.”

Jamal smiled. “That’s one hell of an understatement.”

“You up for that?”

“I think so.”

“Be sure. Somebody could get hurt.”

He sighed. “This whole mess is complicated.”

His dad nodded. “Another understatement.”

“Not sure what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Would he ever be that grown-up?

“Have a good game and don’t worry.”

“Those picketers are there again.”

“I know.”

“Doesn’t help my situation.”

His father clapped his shoulder. “I doubt they care about making it easier for you, Jamal. They want to do the opposite. Good luck on the field.”

Jamal watched his dad’s broad back as he walked toward the groundskeeper’s office. The man he respected most in the world wasn’t really happy with him right now. He hadn’t said it, but Jamal could feel it. Still, his father had given Jamal his love of football. Did he want him to throw it away? Give up his career?
Damn
.

Just smell the grass, Ferdinand. Not much else you can do about it now
.

He hurried back to the locker room for the pregame pep talk.

Half an hour later, the smell of the grass was up close and personal, and two hours after that, they’d won the game and he peeled the same tape and pads from his dirty, sweaty body.

“Jamal.”

He glanced up at Roone Curry. “Hey.”

“Good game.”

“Thanks.”

“Want to get a beer with us?”

“Thanks, Roone. I’ve got an, uh, event to go to.” As good a name as any. “But let’s do it another time, okay?”

“Sure. Have a good evening.”

That was damned unlikely. But at least he wasn’t going to drag Trevor through his mess anymore. He’d made up his mind in the fourth quarter. As soon as he got out of here, he’d call Trev and tell him not to come. Maybe Jamal wasn’t ready to come clean himself, but he didn’t want other people lying for him. He’d make up some story for Arondel.

The trainer leaned out of the massage room. “Hey, Jones, need any work?”

“No, thanks, Bill. No time.”

He grabbed a towel. When he came out of the shower a few minutes later, he saw Boogaloo huddled with some of his cronies. The big man looked almost dressed, which was rare since Boogie usually liked to lounge in the whirlpool. He also looked mean. Jamal shrugged off a shiver.
Okay, get out of here and call Trevor
.

Before he got his shirt tucked in, Boogaloo went flying past him out the door of the locker room. Jamal finished dressing, waved to the guys who were still jamming and gossiping in the center of the room, and headed toward his car. He’d call from there.

Outside, he trotted toward the Cadillac in the side lot where the players parked. Two guys stopped him for an autograph, but he finally got into the big car and pulled out his phone. Four rings later, he was listening to that silky voice tell the caller that Trixie wasn’t there. After the beep, he spoke quickly. “Hi, Trev. Listen, I don’t think you should go tonight. It’s not that I don’t want you with me, but I can’t ask you to lie for me anymore. I feel bad I already did it once. I’m really sorry. I’ll get this party crap done, and we’ll go out tomorrow or whenever you’re free, okay? I mean, I’ll really miss you, but this is better. Call me so I know you got this.”

He clicked End. Good.
Hope he gets it
. What if he didn’t? He’d try calling again later.

He started the car and drove across the still-crowded lot. Through the gate from the player’s parking, he turned right toward the main entrance to the stadium parking lot. As he got close to the exit, he saw some people running. A couple of them carried picket signs. Must be the students with their
You Come Out for Us
banners.
Shit
. He didn’t want a confrontation. They wouldn’t surround the car, would they? Most of them should have left by now, since the fans were pretty much gone.

He sped up a little.
Get past them quick
. As he pulled through the arch that provided the main entrance to the Diablo’s stadium, he glanced to his right.
What the fuck—?

The placards bobbed frantically, and a crowd of four or five people seemed to be surging forward and then bouncing back in a strange tide. One guy looked like he was hitting somebody with his sign—or trying to.

Jamal stopped and peered through the passenger window. Good God, was that Boogaloo? He looked past the moving group and saw the big SUV parked haphazardly beside the entrance. This was bad. If the press came, Boogie could get fined or worse for beating up on members of the public. Of course, it looked like the gay guys were giving him some trouble, which gave Jamal a weird thrill.

Jamal heard somebody yell, “Get your fucking hands off him.”

Really bad
. He put it in park and jumped out of the car. The yells and shouts were damned serious from here.

“Leave him alone. You’ll hurt him.”

“Stop or I’ll call the police.”

Jamal ran toward the group and—no! Three hundred and fifty pounds of Boogaloo Johnson gripped a slender blond man by the collar and pulled back a fist.
Trevor!
Jamal’s heart stopped. Trev had his hands up like he was trying to protect himself and fight back at the same time.
No way!
Jamal covered the distance in two jumps, grabbed Boogie’s meaty paw, and twisted it just shy of breaking. “Get your hands off him.”

“What the fuck?” With his other hand, Boogie pulled Trevor up until he was hanging by his shirt with the fabric cutting into his throat.
No. No one hurt Trevor!
Jamal wrapped his forearm around Boogie’s throat and squeezed.