by Felix Brooks
It didn’t help that he looked like he did. He was big and muscular, and guys got swoony around him. He thought it was adorable. But the fact they were hot for him didn’t mean they liked him. It was a hard lesson, and he’d learned it one too many times.
But that night, he wasn’t at the bar to hook up. He was with friends, celebrating a big victory that capped off his college football career. This was a story they’d be telling at Coastal for years.
“With you and Emmett graduating,” Brent said, “it’ll leave a big hole in our roster.”
“Guess you’ll have to step up, then,” Waseem countered.
Brent knitted his brow, like he hadn’t thought about that before. “Yeah, I might have to. Juergensen here isn’t exactly up to the task.”
Juergensen, with his pale blond hair and ocean blue eyes, raised his brows and gave Brent a bored look. He was the second-string quarterback, and as good as he was, he couldn’t compare to Emmett. “Just wait,” Juergensen said. “See if I ever put the football in your hands next season, if you keep talking smack about me.”
Brent was a wide receiver, and a good one. Pro material. In the three seasons he’d been playing for Coastal, he’d upped his game steadily. Working with Emmett had been good for him. With Emmett graduating in the spring, there was a chance Brent would backslide. But on the field, he had a fire about him. That was where his passion came out. The contrast fascinated Waseem.
A squeezing in Waseem’s chest hurt his heart a little. The attraction was inappropriate, but Waseem couldn’t seem to shake it. As they crowded around the table, Brent’s scent filled his nostrils, clean musk and shampoo with undertones of juniper. The pheromones coming off the guy made Waseem a little crazy.
The friends joked together until well into the night. As closing time came, the other guys streamed out toward the hotel where they were staying. But Waseem, whose family lived in the area, had been planning to drive back home, where his family had held a big celebration for him after the game. “Man, I am beat,” he said. “I didn’t expect to be out this late. And I’ve still got a forty minute drive.”
“So stay in my room,” Brent said. “I’ve got a king-sized bed. Plenty of room, and I promise not to bite.”
Waseem’s stomach clenched. That was more temptation than he wanted thrown at him, but what could happen? Brent wasn’t into guys, and even if he were bi, he wouldn’t cheat on his girlfriend. Waseem had never even heard Brent talk about other women. Or other men. The guy was committed.
“That’d be great,” Waseem heard himself say. Truth was, he was exhausted and in no shape to drive—even without alcohol.
But most of the other guys were decidedly drunk. Not rowdy, just having a good time. Someone started singing the school song, and a couple of them slung their arms around each other’s shoulders in a brotherly sort of way. Brent did the same to Waseem, and it felt just as good as it had earlier in the evening.
It was dumb for Waseem to think that way. Brent wasn’t into him. He had to put that idea out of his head.
***
The hotel was a short walk away. In the lobby, Waseem stopped at the front desk. “I’m crashing here with a friend tonight,” he said to the pretty young clerk, her light brown hair in a loose bun. Her bright blue eyes were set off by skin so pale it was almost translucent. “Is there a charge for an extra person?”
“Which room?” she asked, typing away.
“Three eighteen,” Brent said.
“That’ll be ten dollars plus tax. Let me get you a key.”
Waseem handed her his credit card. “Do you have a toothbrush?”
“Of course.” She handed him one as the transaction completed. “Breakfast is across the way, from six until ten, and we’ve got coffee twenty-four hours if you want a decaf before bed.”
“Thank you.” Waseem headed to the coffee station, where the other guys were getting their brew. He decided to forgo the decaf and got the robust blend instead.
“Decaf is for losers,” Brent said, sidling next to Juergensen and choosing the strong stuff as well.
“Fine with me if you don’t want to sleep.”
“I’ll sleep just fine.”
Juergensen put his arm around Waseem, starting a chorus of “Waseem!” that the others joined in. Waseem had no idea why they did that, but it had been happening since his sophomore year, so he just went with it. Emmett might have been the team captain, but Waseem was everyone’s best bud. And he liked it that way.
As they stepped back into the lobby, the clerk asked, “Are you Waseem Al-Ahmad?”
He grinned. “That’s me.”
“Amazing catch today. Seriously, that was one of the best games I’ve seen in a long time. I was rooting for you guys.”
“Why thank you,” Juergensen said, even though he’d spend exactly five minutes on the field.
“Y’all have a good night,” she said as they headed for the elevators.
Once they got off on their floor, Waseem followed Brent to their room. It was decent, mostly beige and not as updated as Waseem was used to when he traveled with his parents. But the guys were paying for their rooms themselves—not the college. They’d decided on their own to spend the night in Raleigh before heading to their respective homes for the semester break. Their last hurrah as a team.
A team Waseem was no longer a part of.
It hurt, thinking about that. As a gay Muslim, he felt like an outsider almost everywhere. But as a member of the Pirates, he was beloved. That was the sense he got. He’d never felt so accepted before, and probably never would again.
Sadness weighed on his chest. He took a swig of coffee. “Which side of the bed do you want?”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” Brent said.
“I’m used to the right side, if that’s okay.”
“Fine.”
They sipped their coffee in silence a minute. “I’ll miss you next year,” Brent said, a rare serious expression on his face.
“I’ll miss you guys, too.”
“You start applying for jobs yet?”
“I’ll do that next semester.” Waseem sat on the desk. “I’ve got some places in mind, though. I’m looking at schools in the cities—Raleigh, Charlotte, Asheville—because I don’t know how open the small towns will be to a gay coach.”
“That sucks. But I can see how it might be a problem for high school.”
“Yeah, since too many bigots equate gay men with pedophiles.” He spoke matter-of-factly—he ought to be angrier, but he was too tired at that moment. “The cities are more open-minded.”
“You don’t have to tell me how backward the rural towns are.” Brent gave him that sexy smirk that undid him a little. “We had celibacy education in my school, which was basically about how we’d all die if we had sex before marriage.”
Waseem grinned. “Then I’m not sure how I’m still standing here.”
Something flashed in Brent’s eyes, a look of confusion or something, before he said, “Yeah.”
Waseem tossed his coffee cup. “I’m gonna brush my teeth. You got toothpaste in there?” He nodded toward the bathroom.
“Yeah, on the vanity.”
When Waseem finished, Brent took his turn in the bathroom. Waseem undressed and slid into bed in his boxers. Brent came out of the bathroom and stripped down to nothing, giving Waseem a brief vision of that firm apple ass before getting under the covers and turning off the light.
Hell. It wasn’t like Waseem hadn’t seen Brent naked a hundred times before. They’d shared a locker room for three years. But this was different. Brent was naked in bed beside him, and Waseem was sporting a completely inappropriate semi. Brent had supported Waseem—even gone to a gay bar with him and their friends a couple of times—and this misplaced attraction seemed like a betrayal of trust.
Not that Waseem would ever do anything. Of course he wouldn’t. But he couldn’t seem to control his body’s treacherous response.
He held tight to his side of t
he bed, afraid of accidentally brushing up against Brent. Just the thought of the guy being so close had him full to aching. Waseem lay in the dark, his body exhausted from the game, his head swimming from the late night. But he was too keyed up to sleep.
Brent tossed beside him. Apparently he was having the same problem. Coffee had been a bad idea.
“Damn it.” Brent’s voice was low, but he was clearly still awake.
“You okay?”
“Can’t sleep. You?”
“Me neither.”
Brent sighed. “If I were alone, I’d...well, you know. That always does the trick. Wouldn’t want to be rude, though. Unless you want to do it together?”
“What?” Waseem exclaimed. That chased away any hint of sleep.
“It’s not a big deal,” Brent said. “In high school, a friend and I used to study together, and he’d put on porn to take a break. We didn’t touch each other or anything, so it wasn’t gay. We’d just get off together.”
Waseem let that sit for a minute. He’d been a peer counselor at the college LGBT center, so he knew about behavior like that. And Brent was right, it didn’t mean a man was gay. Lots of guys did that in high school and never had any same-sex experiences after.
So yeah, the guy who had just suggested they get off together, even though he had a girlfriend at home he was committed to, most definitely was not gay.
Probably.
“Brent...” Waseem didn’t know what to say, but he couldn’t just leave the guy hanging. Waseem had to give him an answer. Brent had just put himself out there, and Waseem didn’t want things to get weird between them.
“Sorry,” Brent said, “I just figured that since you’re gay, you wouldn’t be totally against the idea.”
“I’m not. My being gay makes it more awkward. I have to maintain that line between friend zone and boyfriend zone. If a girl suggested the two of you get off together, wouldn’t you have trouble thinking there was nothing sexual between you?”
“I guess I didn’t think about it like that.”
Waseem lay on his back and stared up into the darkness. Could he do this without it changing his feelings for Brent? It would scratch an itch and maybe get the guy out of his system.
With the blackout curtains drawn, they couldn’t see each other. It wouldn’t have to be weird. And hell, if it did get weird, the two of them never had to see each other again. They were done with football, and Waseem was graduating in the spring.
“Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?” Brent asked.
“I’m sure.” Waseem shucked off his boxers before he could change his mind.
“I’ve got lotion in my shaving kit,” Brent said. A drawer opened, followed by the sound of a zipper. A few seconds later, Brent passed him the bottle. The lotion was on the cold side, but it was better than going dry.
Lying on his back, Waseem reached down and fingered his balls. A puff of air escaped his lips. His body was desperate for this.
Brent let out a deep groan next to him. Waseem could picture him, cock in hand, gently stroking. The picture in his mind was better than porn: Brent’s hard body, with those smooth pecs and bulging arms...and a faint trail of blond hair leading to a stiff erection that Waseem would love to get his lips on.
Waseem would bet anything that Brent’s pretty little girlfriend couldn’t give head like Waseem could.
He couldn’t think like that. This was a one-time thing. Brent wasn’t interested in him that way. This could only ever be a fantasy.
Waseem ghosted a hand across his own nipple while sliding the other along the length of his shaft. It felt amazing doing this with Brent in the bed with him. Waseem didn’t understand why, but he went with it.
Brent’s breathing quickened, and Waseem stopped holding back. He gave in to the fantasy—Brent bent over the bed, that ass ready and waiting for Waseem to take the virgin hole. He would give Brent pleasure like he’d never known before, fucking him while stroking his cock. And as Brent got close, Waseem would lean over and lick his way up Brent’s spine to the nape of his neck, sucking there to mark him.
Brent was moaning now, letting go like Waseem was, and Waseem had never heard anything sexier. Waseem sped up, so close he could hardly endure it. He wanted to thrust into that sweet pink mouth, then pull out and paint Brent with cum.
It was all he could do not to reach out for the guy. But Brent had made it clear that touching was off-limits. Of course it was. Brent wasn’t gay.
Waseem slicked his thumb over his slit and squeezed, thrusting into his hand. Next to him, Brent was bucking hard. The bedsprings squeaked, and Brent called out, “Waseem!”
Hearing his name pushed Waseem over the edge. He came with a shout and kept coming until he had pumped himself dry.
He floated in a state of bliss, body sated, mind at peace. Maybe he and Brent couldn’t be lovers, but they had shared something just the same. And it hadn’t been weird, not at all. It had been intimate and a little bit sweet.
A feeling of affection washed over him. Without the sharp edge of desire to distract him, he could just enjoy the closeness, the deepening of the connection between them. Friendship was a special thing in itself, and Waseem appreciated that.
Brent passed him a box of tissues. As he cleaned up, Waseem said in a mock-serious tone, “Let us never speak of this.”
“Why would we speak of it?” Brent mumbled, sleep in his voice.
Waseem lay back and let his body relax. On the edge of oblivion, in that moment before falling under, he wondered why Brent had called his name.
***
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About the Authors
Felix Brooks
In a former life, Felix Brooks worked a corporate job in the South. When the voices in his head wouldn’t stay quiet any longer, he moved to San Francisco to pursue his dream of becoming a writer. In his free time, he likes to spend time with his pets.
To learn more about his books, visit his Amazon author page.
Andrea Dalling
Andrea Dalling lives in the sexy Southeast, where the summers are hot and the romance hotter. She loves to torture her characters but eventually rewards them with a happily-ever-after. Married to her college sweetheart, she is an ally and an advocate for LGBT rights. When she’s not writing, she enjoys gardening at her Raleigh home and scuba diving in the clear blue waters of the Caribbean Sea.
Website: http://andreadalling.com/
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