Hopefully that sense of dedication would be enough to get him through today, though. Help him weather the punishment waiting for him.
Eventually.
Because when he got to the campus gym, he quickly realized there was no reason for any of his teammates to know, at least not yet. It wasn’t like Warren would have called them all up in the middle of the night. Nobody would think to question Drew’s absence, either. They probably just assumed he was hungover. Warren would probably make the announcement when they sat down for lunch, like he did with other team business during the off-season.
Which meant that the waves and Heys they were greeting him with—no trace of anger or revenge or distrust, just the usual early morning lack of enthusiasm—were nothing but the calm before the storm.
He squirmed all morning, trying to predict who’d fall on which side, and tried to pretend like his aloofness toward his teammates was because he was super focused on his workout and not because he was busy trying to figure out if any of them would soon be turning on him.
By lunch, he was a nervous wreck. He bought a plate of lasagna knowing there was no way he’d be able to eat it, but some paranoid part of him thought that if he didn’t have food when the news dropped, he’d look sorry or scared, and what he needed right now was to look confident and unaffected. He needed to stand behind Warren’s decision, but also behind the fact that he’d benefitted from it. If they smelled any weakness on him, they’d be on his ass like dogs on a bitch in heat. He knew that.
It didn’t stop him from smiling and waving as sheepishly as a coach at his first press conference after being caught with his dick in a player’s mouth when he sat down in the chair Warren had saved for him.
The guys all seemed content to ignore his weirdness and get to their usual conversation topics: the upcoming NHL draft picks, mainly. Not for long, though. Warren, in that dignified way of his, put up his hand.
Of course, the conversation didn’t die down until Tim shouted, “Shut the fuck up!” at which point the whole cafeteria seemed to go silent.
Warren cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, thank you, Tim. But maybe try not swearing next time.”
Tim snorted and sat back, sweeping his tongue between his teeth and lower lip. “Shut ’em up though, didn’t it?”
“That isn’t the— Never mind. Look, guys, I’m just gonna say it. Drew’s gone.”
“What, like, hungover?” Ben asked. “Because yeah, I noticed he wasn’t at the gym this morning.”
Warren shook his head. “No. As in, kicked off the team for drug use. Let this serve as a reminder to all of you that SFU Athletics has a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to substance abuse. So . . . don’t.”
“Seriously?” Ortega protested. The first to come to Drew’s defence, as always. “You gotta come down on him that hard? What, was he doing meth or something?”
“That’s beside the point,” Warren said carefully.
“Bullshit! It was pot, wasn’t it? You kicked him off the team for smoking a fuckin’ joint!”
What, had Ortega magically forgotten all the other shit Drew had been pulling? Hell, yesterday when Warren had given Drew that public scolding and Drew had begged for someone to stand up for him, Ortega had been silent.
Yesterday!
And now suddenly he was fighting for Drew’s honour?
Not that Austin could point that out. Nope, he needed to stay the fuck out of this and keep his head down. Not draw attention to himself in case that attention turned him into a target.
“Bullshit,” Ortega muttered again, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms moodily.
“Anyway,” Warren continued. “Since Drew is gone, I’ve decided to make Calabresi our star left winger. Think you’re up for it, Calabresi?”
“Shit yeah!” Calabresi shouted, jumping to his feet and punching the air before catching Ortega glaring daggers at him and sitting down again. “I mean, not that I’m, uh, happy about Drew getting kicked off the team but, you know, if the spot is open anyway, it might as well be me, right?”
That was a good way of putting it. Why hadn’t Austin thought of saying something like that? Well, no reason he couldn’t jump onto the bandwagon now. And it would look good for him, too, sticking up for Calabresi. That was a quality of a team leader, right? Keeping the peace. He nodded furiously, if belatedly. “Exactly. Exactly,” he said, and wet his lips quickly. “Drew’s actions led to this. If people benefit, that doesn’t mean they’re happy he’s gone or that they, uh, planned it.”
Warren gave Austin a sideways look. “That’s right. And speaking of promotions, I’ve decided to promote Austin to alternate captain while we’re at it—”
“What?” Ortega roared.
“Man, that ain’t right,” Tim added. “Rewarding him for tattlin’ on a teammate?”
“I’m not,” Warren said evenly. Not that anyone cared what he had to say at this point.
“So, you’re saying Drew gets kicked off the team after Austin went crying to you about him drinking, and then Austin gets alternate captain, but it’s not because of that?”
Why the fuck wasn’t Austin standing up for himself? Why wasn’t he shaking the table and shouting Because it wasn’t, motherfuckers! It’s because I know this team and I know Calabresi’s the best person for the spot and Warren trusts my opinion and I’ve been gunning after this position for two years now and I earned it.
But he wasn’t saying any of that, because he didn’t believe it, not really. He’d betrayed his team. Betrayed them by ratting out Drew, but not just that. Betrayed them with his urges and the fact that last night, for the first time, he’d embraced them. Let them take him over.
“Ha-ha!” Riley shouted, slapping his palm against the table and rattling their trays. “I got it! Austin got alternate captain because he really is sucking Warren’s dick!”
Betrayed his team, and it hadn’t even fucking worked. Austin flushed and stared mutely at his lap, at his hands fisted in the denim of his jeans. At the huge fucking hard-on trying to rip its way out of his fly at the thought of submissively sucking dick for favours like the faggot he secretly was.
It hadn’t even worked.
It hadn’t worked, but somehow Austin still couldn’t bring himself to feel completely cheated by the fact that he’d watched it.
Maybe because he’d liked it so much.
As much as he hated himself for that, he really had liked it. Kept on thinking about it on the bus ride to the store that afternoon. Every time his eyes landed on his bag and he remembered it was in there, wrapped up in his gym tee. How could such a small, concealable object contain so much meaning and significance? Master Puck’s teasing smile, his sexy-mean laugh, the way he’d manhandled his pussy sub until he was crying and totally debased.
But it hadn’t worked. Had Austin really expected it to work? Porn didn’t cure sexual deviants. It made them worse. He’d been desperate, though. He’d always been desperate.
And yet there he went again, looking down at his bag, thinking about the DVD hidden inside it, remembering the things he’d seen. The things Puck had done to him.
Done to Danny Domino, he reminded himself. Austin was watching the porn. He wasn’t starring in it.
God, he was losing his grip on reality.
Well, soon he’d be at Rear Entrance Video and STRAIGHT SUB SETUP 4 would be back on the shelf where it belonged and hopefully having it out of reach would break the horny trance Austin was in. Out of sight, out of mind.
Then all Austin would be left with was his boner problem—and oh, yeah, the fact that he was getting kicked out of his place at the end of the month.
He trudged up the block from the bus stop to the store, feeling like every gay dude he passed could smell it on him—the fact that secretly, he was one of them, that he was breaking down and giving in and soon there’d be nothing left of the person he used to be. How could that thought be so fucking terrifying but exhilarating at the same time?
/> Because Bobby was happy, Austin realized as he slipped through the door of the store.
Bobby, who’d gone through the same change Austin was fearing now—his old self peeling away to something new underneath—was happy.
He hadn’t yet looked up from the cash drawer he was counting out, didn’t know yet that it was Austin who’d walked in. And in that unguarded moment, he was happy. Smiling and humming as he counted a fistful of crinkled fives.
He was a weird freak of a he/she person wearing a black corset and nail polish, but holy shit, he was happy.
A part of Austin just wanted to be happy, too.
But not like that. That wasn’t his future he was looking at, any more than Christian’s class of snot-nosed kids was.
Who didn’t want to be happy, at the end of the day? Not Austin’s fault that all his examples of so-called “happiness” in life seemed to come from weird gay dudes.
Austin needed his own happiness. He needed to chase that. Okay, so he needed to figure out what the fuck it was first. Then chase it.
“You should do what makes you happy,” Austin blurted out, and Bobby’s head snapped up. He gaped at Austin through eyes wide with surprise. Austin flushed and kicked at the floor awkwardly, making his sneaker squeak. “I mean . . . You seem happier, now. That you’ve changed. We all just want to be happy, and we deserve to be happy, and if that’s what makes you happy, then you should go after it and do it.”
Bobby’s expression softened for a second, went all watery and girly and sweet, like he wanted to kiss somebody, but then he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “And?” he asked.
Austin took a deep breath through his nose. “And I don’t have the right to stand in the way of your happiness. Or judge you for what your happiness looks like.”
“You mean that?” Bobby asked, expression suspicious.
“Yeah. I do.” Austin found it hard to look at him. Couldn’t look into those dark, questioning eyes, as timid as a deer’s. So he didn’t. Instead, he stared at the poster of a dude’s hard dick in profile, which hung over Bobby’s left shoulder. “Look, I’m not gonna lie to you, man. It’s still fucking weird to me, and I don’t get it. At all. But I don’t really need to get it, do I? There’s nothing to get. Not for me. All I gotta do is stand back and let you do your thing and be happy for you that you’re happy.”
Now Bobby’s lower lip stuck out and trembled, and before Austin could react, he’d leapt over the counter and was throwing his arms around Austin’s body in a crushing hug. “Oh, Austin!” he proclaimed tearfully as he pressed his face against Austin’s chest. “I’m so glad you see it that way.”
Austin carefully peeled Bobby’s arms off his body and pushed him back, but not urgently enough to seem like he was worried about getting cooties. “Okay, man. Don’t get all sappy on me. I’m sorry for being a dick, but I’m not planning on painting each other’s nails and watching The Notebook anytime soon, okay?”
“You wouldn’t catch me dead watching The Notebook anyway. Now, Infernal Affairs is another story.” Bobby smiled. “I do appreciate you saying all that, though. From the heart, and not only because you want to keep your room. And if it helps any, I don’t really know exactly what my deal is, either. You think you’re confused by all this?” He gestured down at his outfit—the corset over the white button-up top, the tight men’s pants and women’s high-heeled boots. “Try living it.”
Austin laughed nervously. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
Bobby left him on good terms. Not best friends or anything, but they’d spent an entire changeover not avoiding each other’s eyes, so that was a win by itself. They’d even joked around a little.
As soon as he was alone for the night, Austin put up the BACK IN FIVE MINUTES sign and locked the door. From there, he scuttled behind the counter to retrieve STRAIGHT SUB SETUP 4 from its place hidden in his bag. Returned the disc to where it belonged in the cabinet, then put the case back on the shelf.
There.
Done.
But of course he didn’t leave it at that, and of course he wasn’t done.
He stood there like an idiot staring at the case and the ones next to it, like if he did it enough, one of the grim, sexy faces pouting back would tell him what the fuck to do.
It had worked, kinda. He thought it hadn’t, but it kinda had. Not with his boner problem, no, but with the Bobby one. He’d finally said the right things to Bobby. Said them from the heart, like Bobby said, not out of a desperate desire to not be homeless. It seemed kind of weird in hindsight that watching a dirty video could cure his so-called homophobia, almost hilariously simple, and Austin had this mental image of strapping down the Westboro Baptist Church and forcing them to watch gay porn until the only things they wanted to protest anymore were bad tattoos.
For whatever reason, though, it had worked.
It hadn’t fixed his other issue, but then, the exercise punishments that he’d always been able to rely on in the past weren’t working anymore, either.
Maybe he was looking at it the wrong way. He thought back on that thing Dylan had said: something something something repression, something something something jealous. The point was, he’d thought maybe if he’d let off some steam, things would get better. And as far as his relationship with Bobby went, they had.
But when it came to the turned-on-by-humiliation thing . . . well, that didn’t have anything to do with repression or jealousy. It . . . it was what it was. It was an illness. An addiction. Something he’d lived with for a long time. The cycle of denial and punishing himself hadn’t worked, even when he’d taken it to extremes that left scars. But giving in to his urges hadn’t worked, either. And he wasn’t about to sign up for one of those bogus fucking Jesus cure camps, because c’mon, Austin may be a bit stupid and ignorant about things, but he wasn’t that stupid.
What if he treated it like smoking, though? It was an addiction, right? Sort of? Quitting cold turkey hadn’t worked. He didn’t think they made gums or patches or sprays of gayness for him to wean himself with, but there was one more option. That kid what’s-his-name . . . Derek or something. He’d taken up smoking in grade eight, their first year of junior high. His dad hadn’t bargained with him or grounded him or stood by and let him do whatever; he’d gone to the corner store, bought one of those jumbo bulk-sized packs of cigarettes, and then had sat Derek down and made him chain-smoke them right there in front of him. One smoke after another, over and over again, until Derek had started hacking and puking and hadn’t touched the fucking things again.
Old school.
Austin wasn’t sure there was a way to physically make himself puke with gay porn, but if there was, he was going to fucking find it.
He nodded to himself in determination and headed to the filing cabinets behind the counter. Five movies to start with, he decided. Enough to really overdose himself if he watched them in full back-to-back, but not enough to cause alarm when they went missing all at once. Four of them he picked at random, grabbing the first discs he saw printed with pictures of dick or abs or assholes. For the fifth, he chose STRAIGHT SUB SETUP 3.
And tried to pretend that was anxiety and not anticipation making his stomach twist and turn.
With all five discs and their matching cases wrapped up in various items from his workout wear and zipped safely in his bag, he returned to the front door of the store, took down the sign, and unlocked it. Returned to his seat behind the counter and steeled himself for the long, long night ahead. Not even a quarter of the way into his shift, and then five plus hours of porn waiting for when he got home? Well, hopefully he wouldn’t feel compelled to run for three fucking hours like last night, or else he’d be really tired come tomorrow morning’s workout.
Speaking of tired, wow, last night was suddenly catching up to him, a fact that wasn’t helped by how quiet and empty the store was, or the soft white-noise hum of the overhead lighting. Austin slumped forward onto the counter and pillowed his head on his arms as his eye
s drifted shut. He was so exhausted, he couldn’t summon up the will to be revolted or ashamed when visions of Master Puck took shape in the darkness. No Danny Domino here. No pretenses, no sets, no soundtracks. Only Austin, buck-ass naked, bare in more ways than one. And Master Puck, standing over him, looming, speaking, saying—
“Are you guys open?”
Austin startled awake, looked up, caught a glimpse of the guy standing across the counter, and nearly jumped out of his skin.
Master Puck. Master Puck—the fucking Master Puck, man of Austin’s dreams/nightmares—was standing across from him in jeans and a leather bomber jacket. Smiling.
Act normal. Act normal. Act like he’s just another customer and you’ve never seen him naked and you’ve never jerked off to the thought of him stuffing his dick down your throat and making you cry.
Austin flicked his tongue over his dry lips. Shook his head hard. “Yeah. Sorry. We are. Had a late night last night”—jerking off to you and then punishing myself for it—“and I guess I must have been more tired than I thought. Can I, uh, help you?”
Puck definitely wasn’t fooled by Austin’s so-called “normal” act, but at least he seemed charmed by it instead of weirded out or—God forbid—predatory. Last thing Austin needed was for Puck to clue into his weaknesses like a wolf picks out the weakest deer and then strikes.
And what the hell was Austin thinking, coming up with something like that? Sure, the guy was a deviant, but that didn’t mean he was some kind of sex criminal prowling for vulnerable boys.
Although a very insistent part of Austin really kinda wished he was.
“Actually, you can . . .” Puck trailed off in a way that begged Austin to finish his sentence with a name.
“Austin,” he provided, and couldn’t help the little thrill he got at doing what Puck wanted.
Puck extended a hand to him across the counter, and Austin was compelled to reach out and shake it. He just had to hope his palm wasn’t too sweaty. Puck’s shake was powerful but not painful. Confident but not overcompensating. “Liam Williams.” He let go of Austin’s hand with an exasperated but good-natured smile. “And yes, that means my legal name is William Williams. I’m the co-owner of Mischievous Pictures.” He produced a business card, which Austin took. Right there at the top: Owner, Professional Dominant. Liam Williams and Master Puck getting equal billing. “You guys have a couple of our titles, I believe?”
Straight Shooter (Rear Entrance Video, #3) Page 6