by Sam Elswit
Terrence spasmed and pitched forward, ejaculating all over Michael's chest and stomach. Panting and grinning, he rolled off of Michael, then snuggled up to the younger man and used a tissue to clean him off.
"That was so fucking hot," Michael said, sliding his arm around Terrence's waist. "You're so goddamn sexy. I've beat off thinking about you so many times since coming to camp. I almost can't believe we just did that."
"Believe it," Terrence said, sounding extremely pleased with himself. "And get used to it. No way am I gonna let that gorgeous ass go unfucked for much longer. You're mine now, Dwyer."
"O-okay," Michael said stupidly, because the thought of being possessed by Terrence was one he could definitely get used to.
Chapter 7
It was a rude awakening the next morning. Hung over and aching, Michael rolled out of bed and looked around in bleary confusion. Where was he? What had happened? He looked over his shoulder and his stomach lurched upon seeing Terrence dozing peacefully on the pillow beside him.
Shit.
Michael tried to go back to sleep, but could not even keep his eyes closed. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, reviewing the events of the night before with a dreamy satisfaction mingled with mounting anxiety. He was deeply contented and excited about being with Terrence again, but he was also nervous. What would it be like when they went back to camp? They would all have to go back to being closeted, right? It would be better this time, he thought, since he had some solidarity with Guy and Chad... but what would it be like with Terrence? Would the man even want to speak to him? Or would Terrence ignore him everywhere outside the bedroom?
When Terrence woke up, they shared some kisses, ordered breakfast, and sat down to talk. Terrence explained that it was important for them to maintain their "professional" image. It was important that the guys not know that they were involved, romantically or otherwise, partially because of their supposed quarterback rivalry, but also because of the undercurrent of homophobia which was rampant in professional football. Michael's heart ached as Terrence explained that they would have to go "on the DL" for now, that they could keep seeing each other, but only in secrecy. Around the team and around camp, it had to look like nothing had changed, or their careers— or even their lives— could be in jeopardy. Still, Michael could not deny that he was in love.
He and Terrence parted ways in front of the hotel. Michael called Guy and Chad and they rode back to San Jose together... God only knew where Terrence was going. Michael was quieter than usual as he stared out the window, pining secretly for Terrence, wondering where the man was and what he was doing and how he was getting back to camp. He knew that Guy and Chad knew what had happened, but it seemed they also knew how seriously Terrence took his reputation. They didn't even mention the man's name. They teased Michael a little bit about hooking up, but the ride back was strangely sort of somber. Like the three of them had "come out" for two days, and now they had to creep back into the closet with tails between their legs.
Back at camp, however, Michael didn't have time to think much about Terrence, or San Francisco, or anything, really, except for the game. They were only a couple days out not from their first exhibition game, and Michael's first game as a pro player. As he had done for practically his entire life, Michael threw himself into the sport to avoid thinking about life. He and his teammates were out on the field from dawn until it was nearly dark, stopping only to eat and review their coach's plays. The day before the big game, they got to rest, but this was no time for another gallivant to San Francisco.
Still, Michael could not resist trying to steal some time with Terrence. He approached the older man in the locker room with a shy smile. Few of the others were around, so he felt safe talking, but Terrence gave Michael a severe look as he approached.
"Hi..." Michael said timidly.
"Can I help you?" Terrence grunted.
"I was just, um... wondering if you wanted to... you know..."
"No, I don't know," Terrence said coolly.
His tone was so distant, so flat, it was like being punched in the gut. Where was the sweet, tender guy that had taken Michael's virginity? He stared up at Terrence with hurt scrawled openly across his face, then looked down at his feet.
"You're right," Michael said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't know either. Sorry I bothered you."
Michael whirled and stalked off to change. Terrence started to call after him, but Michael ignored him, because he knew it would take just a single glance at Terrence to make him break down crying.
***
The team still didn't respect him.
And now Terrence was giving him the cold shoulder.
Could things possibly have been much worse? Michael knew that this type of thinking was dangerous, just inviting trouble, but he couldn't help feeling nervous and dejected the morning of their first game. He had trained harder this summer than ever before in his life, he was in peak physical condition, and he knew all the plays like the back of his hand. Michael should have been confident in himself. But it was a team sport, and if his team didn't like him, how could he succeed?
"You'll do great," Guy promised, thumping Michael on the back before they all jogged out on to the field.
The first quarter was fairly uneventful. The visiting tea, the Oakland Raiders, scored a few points, Michael's team scored a few points; everyone, it seemed, was holding back. And boy, were they. Things heated up a bit in the second quarter. The Raiders got more aggressive, a few of his teammates were tackled, Michael saw some noses bloodied and some arms bruised.
In the third quarter, an offensive lineman sprinted around the defense so fast that no one could catch him and he brought Michael and the ball to the ground. Michael grunted as three of the Raiders piled on top of him at once, crushing the wind out of his lungs, and someone stepped on his goddamn leg! Luckily, it wasn't a purposeful move to try to sabotage him, and he wasn't seriously injured, but his calf muscle was deeply bruised and horrendously painful. He gritted his teeth and powered through it, but after resting and going into the fourth quarter, Michael's performance— for the first time during the game— flagged. His bruised leg slowed him down and he got tackled again, this time sustaining a mild blow to the face which gave him a nosebleed and took him out for the last half of the final quarter.
The Raiders trashed them, winning forty points to fifteen.
The mood in the locker room afterward was severe. Most of the team blamed Michael for their loss— and, as their "star" quarterback, they were within their rights to blame him. Although it was his body that had gotten battered, Michael's heart hurt the most. This game was much, much harder than any he'd played in college or high school. These guys were maniacs, and they were paid a lot of money to be maniacs. The 49ers were skilled and disciplined, but they lacked the passion of the Raiders, and Michael knew that it was his fault for not uniting the team.
One by one, after a stern talking-to by their coach, the men cleaned up, changed, and filed out of the locker room for a well-earned rest.
Michael stayed behind.
He wasn't sure what to do with himself, but he knew he couldn't go back to the dorm and face his teammates yet. He was starving, but plenty of the guys would be in the cafeteria right now, and he didn't really feel like getting a ride into town to go eat somewhere else. He sat on the bench in front of his locker, staring at the floor, feeling like he'd gotten himself properly stuck. This career was a one in a billion chance. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. For a no-name kid from small town Minnesota, this was a dream come true, so wonderful that it was practically unthinkable, the kind of thing that men dream about for many long years after their football playing days are over. He was lucky and he knew it. And yet... he didn't feel happy. He felt scared that they might terminate him, and he felt lonely, as his team (and his lover) rejected him. But what was he supposed to do?
Just stick with it, I guess, Michael told himself. Nothing lasts forever. Something will chan
ge.
"Hey."
A candy bar came flying at his face. Michael just barely caught it, and looked up to see Terrence standing there with a handful of snacks from the vending machine. Michael had never been so glad to see a bag of Cheetos in his life.
"Hey," Michael said back, gratefully unwrapping the candy bar. "You're cool to talk now that the team's not here, huh?" He didn't mean to sound bitter, it just... slipped out. Michael wasn't really in the mood to be diplomatic.
"Guess I deserved that," Terrence mumbled. He opened a bag of chips for himself. "What the hell happened on the field today, man? That was painful to watch."
"I don't know," Michael moaned, burying his face in his hands, fighting the urge to break out in tears.
"You're a better player than that, I know you are. I've seen you during practices."
"I know," Michael groaned. "I just... it's hard to kind of... keep my head in the game. You know? The other team, they seem so close, they look up to their QB, they're like... unified and stuff. I just feel like the team hates me. It figures, though. I was a misfit back home, I shouldn't be surprised to be a misfit out here, too."
"You do have a kind of... quaintness," Terrence admitted, stifling a laugh. "But that's not your problem."
"What's my problem then?" Michael took a huge bite of the candy bar.
"Aside from needing to get laid more often?"
Michael choked on the candy bar.
"Calm down, I'm teasing you," Terrence said, thumping Michael on the back. "You just need to be more social with the guys is all. They don't really know who you are. You're too quiet and stuff. "
"But if I talk too much, they might realize that I'm..."
"Look." Terrence rested a heavy hand on Michael's shoulder. "Nobody knows better than me what discrimination and prejudice are like, okay? I'm a black gay man, probably the only thing worse is a black gay woman. I know that fear. But your sexuality doesn't define you, Mike."
"Michael."
"Okay, Michael. There's a lot more to you than being gay. Just try to... I dunno, sit with the guys at dinner and stuff. Talk to 'em about the game. Tell them when they do good, tell them what they could do better. That's safe to talk about."
"Is that what you did?" Michael looked up.
"Yeah, pretty much. The guys know you're a badass athlete, Michael, they just don't know what kind of man you are."
"And do you know what kind of man I am?" Michael asked quietly.
Terrence shifted, obviously uncomfortable with the sudden turn in the conversation. "Uh..."
"Part of the reason I'm so distracted..." Michael reached out and took Terrence's hand. "I'm in love with you, Terrence. And it's torture to be so close to you, yet so far away. It's tearing my heart up."
"Baby..." Terrence looked around nervously, then, upon seeing no one around, scooted closer, and put his arms around Michael. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew how it was gonna be."
"How the hell was I supposed to know?" Michael demanded.
"Calm down."
"I am calm."
"You've heard the slurs. The gay-hating comments. Shit, they're even racist as hell even though half the team is black. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you, Michael. We've gotta be careful just until camp is over in a few weeks."
"And then?" Michael frowned. "Than I'll never hear from you again?"
"Then you move to San Francisco and we can see each other all the time. It'll be easier to focus when you know I'm gonna take you home and fuck you later that night." Terrence smoothed back Michael's hair soothingly. "I really care about you, too, babe."
"Do you love me?" Michael stared Terrence down, demanding silently that he profess his love, but Terrence only stared back like a deer in the headlights.
"I can't say I don't, but I... I can't say those words. I just... I have problems. But I want you, Michael, I want to be with you. Please be a little bit patient."
Michael sighed and shrugged and chewed the last bite of his candy bar. "Okay," he mumbled around it. "But only because you've got such a nice dick."
Chapter 8
Michael took Terrence's advice to heart.
He spent the last few weeks of training camp making every effort to be "one of the guys." He sat with them at mealtimes, he initiated conversation, and he talked football until he was out of breath. As Michael opened up, talking to his teammates about the game, even when they were off the field, they slowly warmed up to him. They began asking him for help. They began deferring to him on questions of strategy, and while he didn't always have a good answer, it felt good to be included. Michael started mentoring other players who were not as strong as him, staying with them longer on the field to run drills.
Their second exhibition game, a week after the first, was an away game, and it went much better. They still lost, but not as badly, and Michael only sustained a few minor bruises this time. He could feel the team beginning to come together, and his enthusiasm for the sport was returning along with it. They won their third exhibition game, as it was a home game, and by then the team had begun to really accept Michael, and the celebration after the winning game was positively riotous. You would've thought they had just won the Super Bowl, even though this game didn't even count toward their standing in the league. The celebration was more about their growing camaraderie, the feeling of operating as a single unit rather than as a bunch of individuals.
Michael had been able, more or less, to keep his distance from Terrence since their talk in the locker room. It was difficult, but he contented himself with secret wank sessions where he fantasized about that wonderful they'd had together. He felt a bit pathetic, really, pining after the man so much. Because even though he was naive, Michael wasn't stupid. He knew there was a possibility that Terrence didn't mean what he had said. Michael would move to San Francisco, for sure, but there was no guarantee that Terrence would still want to be with him by then.
Their final exhibition game before the league season approached. Michael was nervous, but now his nerves were accompanied by a giddy excitement. Something had clicked with him and the team, and it felt like this was going to be their season. Michael felt it in his bones. He could almost feel the cold metal of the Lombardi Trophy in his hands! But there was one play he was still having trouble with, which is why he kept getting injured. He had asked Terrence to stay late after practice one night and help him with the play and, as Terrence was a veteran quarterback and the situation would not arouse suspicion, he had agreed.
Michael was milling around the locker room, waiting for Terrence, hoping maybe to catch a glimpse of him changing his jersey or something. Michael had put on some fresh clothes, as the others were stained and sweaty and disgusting from a whole day of training, and he hoped (wrongly) that his session with Terrence would be a bit less intense. He was stretched out on the bench, catching a bit of extra rest, when he heard another set of footsteps in the locker room. His whole body tensed, becuase it was just him and Terrence in here right now, and what if someone suspected?
But it was only Guy. Michael sat up and smiled at his friend. "Hey man, what's up?"
"Are we alone?" Guy asked. Without waiting for an answer, he crawled on to the bench in front of Michael and gripped his shirt in both hands. Michael tried to squirm away, but before he could, Guy thrust a deep, passionate kiss on his lips.
"What the fuck dude!?" Michael exploded, leaping to his feet.
"Oh come on," Guy said, backing Michael into the lockers. He pinned one of his shoulders. "You've been begging me with your eyes for weeks."
"No," Michael said, wild-eyed with fear, "I really haven't."
"Shut up and kiss me," Guy said, forcing another kiss on Michael.
"What's going on here?" Terrence stood with his arms folded, watching with a carefully neutral, stern expression, as Guy trailed his hand down Michael's chest.
"Just a little team-building exercise," Guy said with a shrug.
"Like hell," Michael mutter
ed.
Guy leaned in, his lips so close that they brushed Michael's ear, and whispered, "I'm in love with you, Dwyer. You don't have to pretend any more. I'll see you later."
Guy smirked at him and slinked away out of the locker room, leaving Michael stunned and shaking. Terrence glowered at him.
"Guess that wait was just too long for you, huh?" Terrence muttered.
"It's not like that—" Michael protested, but Terrence cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"Shut the fuck up. I don't wanna hear about you little white pussy. Get your ass out on the field." Terrence jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
Feeling like a scolded dog, even though he'd done nothing wrong, Michael plodded out to the field, and proceeded to receive the hardest, most grueling practice session of his life. He had expected Terrence to be tough on him because that was the only way to get better, but after that scene with Guy, Michael could tell Terrence was taking his aggression out on him. After a particularly aggressive tackle, Michael struggled to his feet, clutching at his abdomen.
"Jesus, I think you bruised my ribs," he wheezed.
"You ain't seen nothing yet, bitch," Terrence said.
"I DIDN'T ASK HIM TO KISS ME!" Michael bellowed, his face florid with rage, hands balled up at his sides. He took an aggressive step toward Terrence, then pushed his shoulders. "That fucking asshole forced himself on me! You think I enjoyed that?!"
"How do I know that's what happened?" Terrence countered, taking a threatening step toward Michael.
"You son of a bitch!" Michael threw himself at Terrence. They locked arms and began to grapple, sweating and grunting and trying to knock one another off his feet.