Eligible Receiver: A First Time Gay Romance (Bareback University)

by Angel Lovecox

  At that moment Carter felt a gentle touch on his arm and jumped.

  “Mike!” He glared briefly at his brother, who grinned tranquilly. “Uh...thanks,” Carter said carefully to Isaiah, feeling shy. He hoped he hadn't looked too silly staring.

  “No problem,” Isaiah said easily. “I'm a bit sleepy myself after that game,” he said politely.

  “You might be,” Carter teased, “but the viewers were on the edge of their seats! I think the whole stadium is frantic.”

  Isaiah laughed. “Frantic! I like it. Thanks, man.”

  Carter laughed. There was something so easygoing about him, so pleasant. He wished he could spend the whole evening talking to him.

  But why would he want to talk to me?

  Whatever the reason, it seemed as if he did, for he turned to Carter with another question.

  “So, Carter. Mike mentioned you’re at Harvard?”

  “Uh...yeah,” Carter said in a small voice.

  “Awesome! What do you study?”

  Carter blinked. He felt a little shy, suddenly, with the whole focus on him. He shook his head to clear it. “Uh...sometimes. I mean, government.” He blushed. What am I saying?

  The man before him grinned. “Sometimes. That makes sense to me...I sometimes think about government. Then I think about something else. Before my head hurts.”

  Mike chuckled and Carter laughed.

  “I sometimes feel like that too,” Carter admitted happily. “Especially right now with these big tests.”

  Mike gave him a playful shove. “Carter is too modest sometimes. And he stresses too much.”

  Carter pulled a face at him and they both laughed.

  “Mike is more generous than any of my professors, I'm afraid.”

  “Oh?” Isaiah rolled his shoulder, wincing a little as he reached back to feel something along his spine. “What to chat? Carter, Mike?”

  He inclined his head toward where seats were laid out, then nodded to Mike and Carter. Carter stared at him.

  “Sure.”

  “Yes.”

  Carter was looking at Isaiah as he said it, and Isaiah grinned back. The grin was such that it made Carter's body tingle. It was almost as intimate as if he had touched him.

  Weird.

  What was happening? Was it really possible that this gorgeous guy was as attracted to him as he was to Isaiah?

  They both went to sit down at a low, expensive coffee table. Carter reached for some coasters, not wanting to make a stain on it. Isaiah grinned.

  “So, Carter. You can tell us about the politics of a football game?”

  Carter laughed. Isaiah looked so calm leaning back, his long neck relaxed, head rested on the headrest, that he just felt at ease.

  “I wouldn't even try, Isaiah,” he said honestly.

  At the use of his name, Isaiah looked into Carter's eyes. The two of them stared at each other.

  Mike grinned at them both.

  “I'm glad I don't have to worry about politics,” he said. “My head hurts thinking about it.”

  They all laughed.

  “You get more than enough headaches from my backache.” Isaiah, to Mike.

  Carter grinned. “Mike has helped your back?” he asked.

  “Last three months, Mike has fixed my back,” Isaiah explained.

  It was Mike's turn to blush.

  “I don't know about that, Mister,” he said cheerily. “If you think it's fixed, you'll just go and injure it again. I know you.”

  They laughed.

  “So, you like football? ” Isaiah asked, turning back to Carter. He ran a hand down his face, finger lingering at his lip in thought in a way that made Carter's heart thump.

  Carter laughed. “It seems a little, well, faster than politics.”

  Isiah roared with laughter. “Probably not much more violent, though.”

  “No.”

  “I've gotta admit, I admire anyone who gets involved with matters of government,” the player chuckled, rolling his shoulder. He rested his elbow on his knee, leaning forward so he and Carter were looking directly at each other.

  Carter swallowed. “Well, I'm not exactly involved, I guess. More an interested observer.” He grinned, brow raised.

  “An informed observer. Not like lots of sports fans.” Isaiah shook his head, grinning. “Or commentators.”

  “Well,” Carter chuckled. “I can't exactly criticize. I don't know all that much about football.”

  “Yes, but you admit it. I like people who admit that.”

  “Thanks!” Carter smiled. “Honest ignorance isn't often rewarded.”

  “Honest anything should be,” Isaiah smiled back. He looked like he meant it.

  They were both laughing. Mike looked across the room. He had been silent for a few minutes, and Carter was surprised he hadn't noticed that. Now, Mike stood.

  “Excuse me a minute, guys,” he said. “I just saw Coach Harries over there. I should go and put in a word about Mattie's injury.”

  They both said farewells to Mike then turned to each other, sat for a while, just looking at one another. “Well?” Isaiah said after a moment.

  “Uh?” Carter asked, shyly.

  “Well,” Isaiah said teasingly. “Isn't it a bit...busy in here? Would you like to go somewhere else?”

  Carter felt his eyes widen. Somewhere else? Alone? “I...”

  “Mitchell! The man of the match. Again...how do you do it?”

  “So, Isaiah. Could you tell us about that last score? What made you pass that ball to Ronson?”

  “How about that amazing kick that went straight to Callohan?”

  Carter looked at Isaiah, who was looking up at the reporters crossly. The fact that he at least looked mad at them made Carter feel a little better.

  Carter wanted to say something to him, to reply to his invitation. But he was elbowed out of the way by the three reporters, two ready to take notes, one with a microphone. He felt himself lose heart.

  Isaiah raised a brow at him, and Carter looked back desperately from where he stood on the edge of the ring of reporters.

  At that moment, he had an idea. Rather than let them push him aside, he was not going to stand for it. Not going to let them rob him of another chance to see this guy— the one person who had made him feel like this in his life so far!

  He felt in his inside pocket. Found it. A felt-tip pen, one of his habits from classes was leaving it in the pocket of his jacket. He pulled it out, and, amazed at his own boldness, moved in amongst the grouping of reporters. He scrawled his phone-number on Isaiah's hand.

  The contact of his own hand with that warm skin made him flush. When he looked up at Isaiah, who was standing absolutely still, he flushed. Isaiah was looking down at him with such warmth it made him melt.

  He smiled up at him shyly. Isaiah smiled back.

  Then, before he could draw attention from the interviewer, Carter walked quickly away, blending invisibly into the crowd near Mike.

  I did it. I don't know if I will hear from him really, but now I can.

  5

  The reporters had mostly all gone, leaving the players and the girls, the coach and some staff, alone together. By some unwritten signal the music got louder and the drinks began to circulate more regularly. The party became more steadily lively, the conversation changing to dancing and the few conversations still going were mostly intent and private.

  Mike, standing near Carter, touched his sleeve.

  “Shall we go?”

  “Yes.”

  Isaiah was somewhere in the middle of the crowd, out of sight somewhere. Without him to talk to Carter felt isolated in the sea of moving, talking, laughing people. He had found Isaiah easy to talk to. No one else was even close.

  He was the one part that made it all fun.

  He watched as Mike did the rounds, tapping players on the shoulder, shaking hands with the coach.

  “Goodnight!”

  “Goodnight.”

  Mike and Carter
said their good-nights, shook hands, waved, and headed to the door.

  Carter followed his brother out, feeling lightheaded.

  Did that actually happen?

  He thought over the conversation with Isaiah. The way they had looked at each other. His invitation to go. It still didn't seem quite possible. Had Isaiah really been interested? It seemed too good to be true, but yet how else could he understand what happened?

  They reached the car. Got in. The wind had died down a little, leaving it slightly less cold. Not that I would notice a hurricane right now. There was enough of a whirlwind in Carter's mind. Sitting in the car seat, smelling new leather, he turned to Mike.

  “Mike?”

  “Yes?”

  “That player. Isaiah.”

  “Yes?”

  Carter paused, not sure of how to say what he wanted to say. Mike stepped on the gas and they edged slowly forward. The mass of cars had mostly left, making it less demanding to negotiate the parking. Even so, he drove carefully, concentrating as they went along.

  Carter cleared his throat, starting over. “He is...Is he?”

  Mike grinned. “Carter, brother. I know you liked him. I knew you would. It's one of the reasons I wanted you to go tonight. But please...be careful.”

  “Careful?” Carter asked, nervous.

  Mike laughed. “Not for anything scary. Isaiah isn't scary: I trust no one more. It's just...he's a football player. I can't visualize him ever coming “out”. If he's in.”

  He is. Carter was sure of it, he always noticed these things.

  “I'm fairly sure he is,” he said cautiously.

  “I think so too,” Mike said gently. “As I said, he's a great guy. Funny, smart. But please be careful...I can't see Isaiah coming out.”

  “I know,” Carter said, feeling sad.

  Mike was right. An NFL player had never come out before, not until they had left the sport. Not that he could think of; not that he knew much of football. But it was hard to imagine one coming out. Hard to imagine Isaiah coming out.

  He could not stop thinking about him. As they drove through the dark, rain-soaked street, he saw his coal-dark skin in every shadow. He heard that warm, deep voice in his mind and let it vibrate through him, carrying snatches of talk.

  I'm just an interested observer.

  An informed observer. Honest ignorance is good.

  Let's go somewhere else.

  By the time they were nearing his home, the whole conversation had played out in his mind, including variations of things they’d both said, and branches of it that were only imagined.

  The car slowed, but Carter hardly noticed. His mind was somewhere else entirely.

  “Here we are.”

  Carter blinked as Mike pulled up outside his home.

  Opposite them, the small house that Carter shared with three other students stood proud, lights on in one window, the gold light blinking out into the newly-falling rain. He felt sad, seeing it again. As if, somehow, being here meant that the evening had finally come to an end. He smiled, laughing at himself.

  “Thanks so much, Mike.”

  Mike grinned. He reached out and gripped his hand a moment before Carter slid out onto the drive.

  “No worries. Have a good evening. And don't stress.”

  Carter grinned. “I'll try.”

  He walked up and through the gate, watching how Mike reversed the car and then headed back off into town. He shook his head. The air was damp with rain and the night was cold. He went inside.

  Collapsing onto the bed in his room, he looked up at the ceiling, feeling warm.

  Isaiah.

  He shook his head at himself. He had class the next day! It was the end of the semester. He had to go to bed now.

  He showered, then slid into bed.

  He lay there, looking up into darkness. Thoughts of Isaiah drifted through his mind. Isaiah's hand in his. That smile, and the way he looked at him. His voice, as oddly intimate as a touch on his skin.

  As he lay there, remembering the way Isaiah had looked at him, he wondered what it would be like to...well...be with Isaiah.

  Carter had not actually been with anyone, though he had read enough about it to know something of what it meant and what could be done. He closed his eyes.

  He imagined Isaiah's hands on his chest and stroking down, taking hold of his cock. That hard touch would be gentle on his skin, the warm strength pressing it, warming it, moving back and then forward and back...

  He closed his eyes. If his own hand were Isaiah's, the touch would be so much more tender, so much more arousing.

  He stroked himself as he thought of him, remembered those moist lips, the color of his skin. The way he teased him as he talked, the way he was so frank.

  Isaiah was gentle. He would be gentle whatever they did together. Whether it was...like this...or something else. His head reeled. He thought about all the things he had read about, and, sometimes, the things he had seen online. He imagined what Isaiah might look like under his uniform, what they might do together.

  His hand worked his own body, making him shiver. But it was not the touch of his hand that was doing it, it was the thought of Isaiah and the memory of the way he had gazed at him.

  He felt his own body shudder as he worked it, feeling like he was about to climax. His body shook uncontrollably, wetness soaking his hand.

  As he lay there, his body exhausted and humored, if not satisfied, he wondered what it would be like to be with Isaiah.

  He lay there a while and then went to the shower to clean up, feeling lightheaded and still half-amazed at what had happened.

  I just met the sexiest man I have ever seen, and we had a wonderful conversation.

  Even as he dropped off hazily into sleep, he could not forget that face.

  6

  “Why am I so tired?”

  Carter groaned as he sat bolt-upright in bed, reaching to switch off the shrilling alarm.

  He stood and stumbled out of bed, reaching for his dressing-gown.

  “Coffee.”

  As he made the bed and then headed to the bathroom to shower he thought of the event the previous night. Isaiah was on his mind and he could not forget about him. Every thought led to him. He finished the shower, warm and wreathed in soap-scents, and headed to dress and then to breakfast.

  “Willimason!”

  He smiled absently at Bradford, his fellow student. “Hi, Hadson. I thought you were away until tomorrow?”

  He had, it seemed, already occupied the kitchen: the newspapers were strewn on the table and the kettle was wreathed in steam.

  “No,” Bradford Hadson grinned at him, giving an expansive stretch where he stood by the refrigerator. “My parents had to go on business, and it's better here than in an empty house, right? Out last night?”

  “Yeah. With Mike.”

  “Oh. Nice. Want some eggs? Duane thinks he forgot them, but really it's because I hid them so he wouldn't eat all dozen of them.”

  Carter chuckled. “An egg would be great. Thanks.”

  The kitchen smelled tantalizingly of eggs and fresh coffee. Bradford had evidently started early, doing his best to make his own breakfast before Duane did. They had driven up country together and had evidently returned together.

  Carter helped himself to the coffee, taking a seat. He reached for the paper, aimed to always stay informed, but as he read it, he couldn't help wondering if he would see Isaiah again.

  I gave him my number, but will he use it?

  It seemed too weird. He probably wasn't even attracted to me, he thought sadly. Why would he be? He scowled at his face in the window-pane, thinking it at best plain, while Bradford fried eggs and Duane and the grad student argued in the corridor about who got to the shower first.

  He couldn't stay depressed for long; stray bits of conversation from the previous night flooded into his mind, making him smile. You come from a nice family. I like that.

  A voice broke in on his reverie.

>   “Hey! Carter! Fresh eggs. Just the way I seem to remember you like them?”

  “Oh,” Carter smiled absently. “Thanks.”

  He sat and ate breakfast, enduring Bradford's chuckles as he read something on his phone, the sound of Duane singing in the shower next door. Where they would have been pleasantly annoying, he barely noticed them today: wrapped in a haze of wonder, all he could think about was the puzzling chat with Isaiah.

  He finished his breakfast and stood. Bradford and Duane squinted up at him.

  “I have to see the Prof early,” he explained. “I wanted to ask him stuff.”

  “Okay,” Bradford agreed absently. “Sure. I'm coming in for class later.”

  “Great. See you.”

  “Bye.”

  Carter went up to see his adviser, but found it hard to concentrate; he was still floating in thoughts of Isaiah. He got the answers he was needing from the professor, but was not quite sure he understood them as he should have.

  “You look tired, Carter,” Prof. said, raising a brow at him. “You're stressing too much.”

  Carter smiled absently at the older man. “Thanks.”

  “I mean it.”

  Carter left feeling vaguely bad that he had let himself be so distracted that morning.

  I should concentrate, he chided himself. This moping around isn't good for anything.

  As the day wore on, the thoughts of Isaiah increasingly filled his mind. The more he tried to concentrate and fight them, the harder it became to ignore them. Memories of the way he smiled, the strength of his hands. His funny humor, and his warm laugh.

  I don't think I've ever met someone like him before.

  “...and we have to, of course, take this event in context of the history of the time...”

  He blinked, trying to concentrate on what Prof. Halter said. He had to, this was an important course! And it was one of the last lectures of the term.

  Carter pulled himself back into the present moment, but before long he was drifting in thoughts of Isaiah once more.