Tipping the Balance

by Koehler, Christopher

  “Spit?”

  “Yeah, nature’s lube. Don’t pretend you’ve never jacked off with nothing but spit,” Drew said. Then he stared. “Are you blushing?”

  “A little, maybe, but you’ve got me going pretty good too,” Brad said.

  Drew knelt down behind that lovely, sculpted backside. Brad’s ass was full and round like a bubble-butt, but the muscles were more defined from his time in the gym.

  He bit one cheek and Brad yelped. Drew grinned and then laved the bite with his tongue to soothe the sting. He couldn’t help himself. He bit Brad again, the other cheek this time, even as he reached around Brad to grab his cock, sliding his hand lightly up and down the shaft to turn the bite’s gentle sting to pleasure.

  “Damn, Drew… what you do to me…,” Brad panted.

  “Is nothing compared to what I’m going to,” Drew rumbled. He leaned forward, resting his cheek against one ass cheek, still stroking.

  He moved his other hand up between Brad’s spread legs to play with his sac for a moment, feeling the balls pulled in tight. His lover might be afraid of the word gay and what they were doing right then, but it turned him on too.

  “You like this?”

  “Yeah,” Brad breathed. “You know just what to do to me.”

  Brad moaned as Drew pushed gently into the sensitive skin, putting pressure on the prostate from the outside. Brad shook his head to clear the stars behind his eyes. “Damn.”

  Smirking, Drew changed his attack on Brad’s senses. He moved his thumb up to Brad’s hole and used his index finger to rub the taint.

  He circled Brad’s hole, close enough to the sensitive nerve endings to set them off, but far enough to tease. He wanted his man begging for it.

  “Aw, jeez,” Brad huffed.

  Then Drew ran his finger over the hole, just once, and Brad jumped. “This,” Drew murmured, inhaling Brad’s musk, “is the barest hint of what you’re missing.”

  “Gimme more,” Brad grunted.

  Drew licked his finger until it was good and wet and then used it to circle the hole a little harder, a little faster. He pressed on the opening, not enough to poke in, just enough to get Brad’s attention.

  “Oh! Do that again.”

  Drew spit on Brad’s ass and then teased his hole again, sometimes circling, sometimes flicking at the hole with just his fingernail, sometimes rubbing it with stronger, harder pressure.

  When Brad started fucking his hand, Drew knew it was time. He stood, reluctantly pulling his hands away.

  Brad whined. “Wha—?”

  Drew aimed his own cock into the cleft between Brad’s cheeks, rubbing it up toward Brad’s back. He felt his own heat rising and knew he’d be splattering that strong lower back with his own cum very soon.

  “That what you want?” Drew said.

  Brad ground back against Drew, who let a streamer of spit fall, slicking the path. He pushed his cock up again, then aimed the head against Brad’s hole before letting it slip down between Brad’s legs.

  Drew thrust slowly, poking into Brad’s balls before pulling his cock up to thrust it between Brad’s cheeks again. He rubbed it slowly up and down, using one hand to toy with his own nipples, first one, then the other, flicking and pinching them until they were hard little pebbles on his chest. It might not be fucking, but it felt damned good.

  Then he leaned forward, holding one hand in front of Brad’s face. “Spit.”

  After Brad complied, Drew reached down and started jacking Brad in time to his own thrusting between Brad’s legs. He loved knowing that for that moment, at least, Brad was a slave to the things Drew made him feel. It was even hotter than his own skin against Brad’s large back.

  Drew straightened. The sight of that back was just too much to ignore. He spat down onto his cock again.

  “Touch yourself,” Drew said hoarsely. “I want to enjoy the sight of my hard cock between your cheeks, you know why?”

  “Uh-uh,” Brad panted. He pushed himself back into Drew’s dick, his hips rocking.

  “Because someday I’ll get to see it disappear between them as I slick it up and slide it into your hot, wet hole.”

  “Oh, God,” Brad groaned, pumping his hand harder. “Drew!”

  The sight of Brad’s back rippling as his orgasm tore through him sent Drew over the edge, and with a final ecstatic thrust between Brad’s cheeks, Drew came in three hard, almost painful spurts.

  He stared at his own cum with blind eyes: three blasts, each one lower down Brad’s back, the lowest dripping slowly down between Brad’s cheeks as it cooled.

  He rested against Brad’s back. This hadn’t been fucking, but it was close. He loved that Brad was willing to do this for him despite his own discomfort. Judging by the size of the cum splatter on the floor, Brad had thought it was hot too.

  He loved… Drew staggered back a little, dizzy, but not from his climax.

  He loved Brad.

  Wow. So this was what it was. He smiled. Suddenly he got why Nick wore that dopey smile whenever he thought Morgan wasn’t watching him.

  But Drew had learned a lesson from Nick’s experience. He wasn’t about to say “I love you” to someone who couldn’t say it back, but damn, it was so unfair. He felt it so strongly right then. He wanted to crow with its newness and intensity.

  “So I guess I’m your bitch now,” Brad said. His voice shook a little.

  Drew rose off Brad’s back, wincing at the cold stickiness between them. He smacked Brad’s ass again, this time hard.

  Brad yelped. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Is that how you see me when you fuck me?” Drew demanded, his voice full of machismo and challenge.

  Brad, looking like he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there, mumbled, “Not really.”

  “Not really? Well, get this through your thick skull. I am all man,” Drew snapped as Brad turned around. Drew made a show of tucking himself back into his underwear. “And one day—when you’re ready—I’ll show you what it’s liked to be a man fucked by another man. Because you’re not my bitch, and I’m not yours, you big, dumb, lovable lug. We’re two guys who care about each other getting off together.”

  “Just so long as you think I’m lovable,” Brad mumbled as he cleaned himself up.

  Drew could only shake his head. Even when he wanted to throttle Brad, he also wanted to hug him and hold him and kiss it away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Brad knew he needed to talk to someone about all the stuff he was feeling, but he had no idea who. Sure, he had friends, many of them still at CalPac. But the thought of telling Rico and the rest of his old cronies that his boyfriend wanted him to take it up the ass and that he kind of wanted to but also kind of didn’t, and could he please help Brad sort out of feelings seemed like a non-starter.

  Brad sighed as he hefted a motor for one of the safety launches up onto one shoulder to carry it up to the boathouse. It weighed a lot, but lifting heavy things felt familiar, and he needed that too.

  He enjoyed coaching for that reason, even if he preferred rowing. As much of a headache as it could be, and as tired as he was most of the time now, it reminded of him of younger, more carefree days. It was a source of stability when everything else about his life had changed.

  He dropped the motor into place in the rack next to the others and looked at his hands. They had grease all over them, which meant his parka did too. That was another thing that sucked about life after college—he now had dry-cleaning bills.

  Sighing to himself about just how unfair it was that he had to grow up, he trudged off to the locker room. Still, he could admit it had its compensations too. Two of his three jobs gave him satisfaction and sometimes even something to be proud of.

  And Drew. Sure, Drew was at the center of all Brad’s puzzles lately, and Drew’s now-evident unhappiness with the pace of Brad’s own coming to terms with their relationship bothered Brad. But there was real affection there, too, and pleasure, both physical and emotional.
Brad wasn’t prepared to use the L-word, not yet, but he admitted to himself he felt far stronger about Drew than anyone else, ever.

  Brad heard voices in the locker room and a word he never thought he’d hear at CalPac.

  “No way is Coach Bedford a fag.”

  He froze outside the door. The word echoed in his ears like a gunshot.

  Fag.

  “Dude, he totally is. There was a huge scandal last year ’cuz he and Morgan Estrada started going out.”

  “Whoa. What happened?”

  “No one knows. Everything just disappeared. There’s all kinds of rumors and shit, but no one’s talking.”

  “Huh. Morgan’s Coach’s buttboy. I always thought he looked a little queer. If I ever see him checkin’ me out, I’ll beat the crap out of him.”

  “No shit.”

  Like that would ever happen, Brad thought to himself, suddenly sick to his stomach. Nick and Morgan are totally into each other.

  Brad thought he recognized one of the voices as belonging to a rower who’d moved up to the varsity this year. The other one sounded young, probably junior varsity, maybe even a freshman.

  “That’s so gay” as an insult was one thing, but “fag” just wasn’t something people said at liberal CalPac. The LGBT students looked after themselves very well on campus. The big controversy on campus recently was over a special dorm floor for LGBT students. The “controversy” was that no one in the student body seemed to care.

  But CalPac was also known as a safe school for rich idiots. Brad always figured that was how he’d gotten in, at any rate, since that was what Randall had told him. So who knew what kind of people lurked in plain sight, keeping their opinions to themselves?

  Dying inside, Brad gritted his teeth and kicked the door open. “Guys,” he said gruffly.

  The rowers, and not just the two he’d heard talking, jumped at the sudden intrusion, but that was just too bad. Not only did he need to wash his hands and get to Suburban Graveyard, this kind of crap had to stop.

  “We were just—”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Brad said. “Sound carries in the boathouse. You might remember that. The coaches’ office isn’t that far.”

  One of the rowers stared at him, and when he spoke Brad recognized him as the one who’d called Nick a fag. Joey something or other. “Is it true?”

  “That is absolutely none of your business, or mine, or anyone’s,” Brad said.

  “But doesn’t it bother you? What if you were showering and he was looking at you?” Joey demanded.

  Brad shrugged, faking a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Let him. If he likes what he sees, then that means my time on the weights is working, doesn’t it?”

  “What if he makes a move on you?” the rower said, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off imagined prying eyes.

  “You mean what if the big bad gay man jumps poor little me? Has that ever happened anywhere? Really?” Brad said sarcastically.

  One of the other rowers watching the exchange just shook his head. “Jeez, you’re an idiot, Joey. Who’d want to jump your flat ass, anyway?”

  The rest of the guys in the locker room laughed, and Brad ignored them, intent on washing his hands and getting out of there as quickly as possible, and not just because he now had twenty minutes to make a thirty-five minute drive to Suburban Graveyard.

  He changed clothes just like he always did, one leg at a time and no thought to who or what was around him. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do in a locker room? But now he felt like eyes were on him, testing him.

  Maybe they saw what a coward he’d been. Maybe the saw the sweat beading his forehead, even still, as his heart raced with suppressed anger and fear and revulsion at his own cowardice.

  Maybe they saw him kicking himself for not speaking up. He was their coach. He was supposedly some big, strong macho stud, so why was he hiding?

  He realized as he drove to work that just by being who they were, Nick and Morgan and Drew were a lot stronger than he was. They were out and open and had to put up with that crap. He’d defended them but not owned it himself. Maybe he could’ve changed some minds by saying, “You know what, guys? That really offends me. I’m gay, too, and I’ve never looked at you even once.”

  But he’d thrown that opportunity away, and even if he found another one, Brad couldn’t honestly say he’d do it differently.

  He spent the morning at work knowing he needed to talk to someone and knowing there was really only one person he could talk to, if he and Morgan would only leave off busting each other’s balls long enough to have a real conversation.

  It didn’t occur to him until after he’d e-mailed Morgan that technically, discussing his personal life was inappropriate. He was now Morgan’s coach, just like Nick. He sighed. When the hell had life gotten so complicated?

  Almost driving off the road one evening on his way to Drew’s house also drove the point home that he needed to step back from the crazy. His eyes had drooped shut, just for a second he was sure, and his car drifted. The thump of the tires against the lane reflectors, as much as the blaring horn of an oncoming car, jarred him awake.

  He jerked the wheel hard to the right and returned to his lane. His hands shook on the wheel as he made his careful way to Drew’s place.

  Drew was right. Something had to give.

  What Brad hadn’t expected was Drew’s reaction.

  “You fool! You could’ve been killed!” Drew bellowed. He ran his hands over Brad’s face and down Brad’s arms like he was checking him for damage.

  “Hey, I’m okay. I didn’t crash,” Brad said. He held out his arms, and Drew rushed in, crushing his face to Brad’s chest.

  “But you could’ve,” Drew mumbled.

  Brad nodded. “I know, and you’re right.”

  “Of course I am. What am I right about?” Drew said, lifting his head.

  That was his Drew. He had to laugh. His Drew. That felt good. It felt right. “About me cutting back?” he said as if he were speaking to a small and dim child.

  “Oh. Yes,” Drew said. Brad thought he looked kind of worried.

  “Dude, there’s only one choice,” Brad said.

  “Did you just call me ‘dude’?” Drew said.

  “Yeah, try not to let it get to you.”

  “You were a lot cuter before you developed this clever wit,” Drew groused, pouting.

  Brad kissed him on the lips. “Admit it. You lo—like me.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Drew said, breaking into a stupid grin and shrugging. Then his smile fell. “So what’s this choice?”

  “There’s not much of one. I’ll quit Suburban Symphony. I hate that place,” Brad said.

  Drew exhaled loudly. “I was afraid you’d quit the Bayard renovation. It’s a gamble, and I can’t afford to pay you as much as your dad can. And there was that fight….”

  “Awww, babe. You need to know something. I’m happier now than I ever remember being, except maybe on the water sometimes. Yeah, I’ve got a job with my dad’s company, but you know what kind of strings are attached to it too,” Brad said. He pulled Drew in for a kiss. “I’d rather take my chances with you than have a sure thing with my dad.”

  “I’m glad to know I can measure up to everything but crew,” Drew said dryly.

  Brad held up a warning hand. “Hey, don’t flack on crew. If it wasn’t for crew, we wouldn’t have met.”

  “True, that,” Drew replied, snuggling in closer. “You know, if I go back to real estate, that frees up my salary.”

  “Oh, babe. Don’t do that for me. I know how much you love this. I’ll make do,” Brad said. “Really.”

  Drew looked at him steadily, then sighed. “It’s not just that. The city’s not paying us quickly enough. I could take out more short-term business loans, but when it comes down to it, I’d rather sell houses and loan the project money than owe the bank more than we already do. I’m a lot nicer about collection and charge lower interest.”

  “It�
��s that bad?” Brad said.

  “It’s getting there,” Drew admitted. “The first payments are only just coming in, and we’ve been spending money hand over fist for months, and most of the bills for Emily’s work won’t come in until much later. Commissions for sales aren’t a cure-all, but they’re better than nothing.”

  Brad frowned. “But then you’d be working to pay my salary, wouldn’t you?”

  “Not really,” Drew said. “I’d be selling real estate to make the budget stretch until things settle out.”