In draft, this has clocked in at just under 70K words. I’m sure it’ll grow at least 5K in edit. I’m pretty happy with it, hope you are too 🙂 This is the cover I set up this a.m…trying to find a good font/color to go with the b/w photo, what do you think?
EPILOGUE – REHAB ASSIGNMENT
“Fields!” Brian shouted, tearing off the catcher’s mask and throwing it into the dirt. “What was that?”
The lanky pitcher came off the mound, walking his awkward gait towards Brian and Carey, the batter Brian had put up against him for this practice. The dude was the least coordinated person you’d ever seen, except when he was on the mound.
“Sorry about what?”
“About what I just did.”
Jeff Fields shuffled some more. “I blew off your signs.”
“How many of them?”
Fields laughed. “All of them.”
Brian had to laugh, too. “Right. And that, Mr. Fields, is why I am filling in as your catcher today. Because the other guys are sick of having you blow them off.”
“They’re wrong! They’re always wrong!” He looked at Carey. “This guy, he never swings at the first pitch.”
“Not true,” Carey mumbled, blushing.
Brian nodded. “True. And I was going to get with you on that, Carey. Later,” he said, glowering at Fields. “But I regret to inform you, Mr. Fields, that this is a team effort. And if every catcher on this team is wrong, then…”
Fields was getting used to Brian’s Socratic method of coaching. “Then I’m always right.”
“And are you always right?”
“And do you know the one thing I can not stand?”
“Someone who’s never wrong and never sorry. I said I’m sorry.”
“Well, then you’re halfway there.”
Brian looked over at Roger, sitting in a front row seat behind home plate. He rolled his eyes as if to say, what am I gonna do with these kids?
Roger kept his poker face on behind his wraparound sunglasses, his hat pulled down low. Only Brian could see the twitch, the faint pull of the muscles in his cheeks that was the real Roger trying to come out, the megawatt smile that Brian loved so much.
“Okay,” Brian said. “That’s enough for today. Mr. Fields, I have an assignment for you. I want you to go find Ruiz, and I want you to throw twenty pitches, and I want you, every time, to throw the first pitch he signals. Every time. Understood?”
Brian ambled over towards Roger. “So what do you think of this crew?” Brian asked him.
“I wasn’t watching them,” Roger said in a conversational voice. “All I could think about was how hot you look with your whistle and your clipboard.”
“Are you telling me you had some coach fantasies growing up?”
“Well, assistant coach fantasies. The young hot guys. Not as hot as you, though.”
Brian could feel the swelling in his groin. “You want to meet me in my office?”
Roger blinked. “You serious?”
“It’s an off day. No one’s around. I only had these guys in because Fields needed a fucking lesson in humility.”
“What lesson were you planning on teaching me?”
“You’ll see,” Brian growled, walking away without another word.
Roger could breathe again, but barely. Brian had been spending as much time inventing ways to keep their sex life exciting as he had working with the team. With Coach Blaine gone on a scouting trip, Brian was in charge. Roger liked it when Brian was in charge, liked to watch him on the field, the new man he’d become – strong, confident, easy with his authority, so damn hot in his Lessing College shorts, his giant legs on display in the Santa Vera sun.
He got up, swallowed hard, thinking of what was to come. He still pushed himself up and out of his seat with both hands, but he was crutch and now even cane-free. The knee would never be the same, but he could still be active, athletic…he just couldn’t play football.
The locker room was empty. Brian had even shut off most of the lights, so that his office was like a beacon in the dark. Roger approached it with the instinctive trepidation of a lifelong athlete.
Brian was at his desk, looking at papers. “Come in, Ehrens.”
Roger trembled. It was his fantasy, being fulfilled at last. “Thanks, Coach.”
He looked around Brian’s office as if he’d never seen it before. There wasn’t much memorabilia on the wall from his days with the Loggers, as if he didn’t want the subject raised, didn’t want anyone reminded of what had happened. But there was plenty from his days as a star player at Lessing, and at Cal State Berkeley – accomplishments he knew he, not the drugs, had attained.
Brian had taken the one thing off the desk that would have ruined the fantasy – their wedding photo. The two of them in their tuxes, eyes aglitter, with their best men – Working Joe for Brian, Royal Jackson for Roger – and Jacob Ehrens, grinning madly, in his role as father to both grooms. They hadn’t waited long after the Super Bowl, and why should they, after all this time?
The media madness after the fact of their wedding became public meant Roger couldn’t have gone back to pro ball even if his knee had been miraculously restored – that media madness chasing him around every minute pestering him about his gayness would have drained any team of its focus. He had to laugh – he would have been like the anti-Tebow, the sinner dragging as much attention behind him as that saint had, with just as much ruinous effect on a team.
Brian looked up. “Do you know why I called you in today?”
“You looked a little stiff out there. Anything I should know about? You’re keeping your grades up, right?”
“Oh yeah, Coach, no problem there.” That was true – Roger was back in school, finishing his senior year to get his History degree, with an eye on grad school and a career as a history professor, just like his father. “I’m just…having some girlfriend problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“I…haven’t been able to satisfy her.”
Brian nodded. “Probably because you’re too tense.” He got up, came around behind Roger. “Let me have a look.” He put his hands on Roger’s shoulders, ground his thumbs into Roger’s back with a pressure that made him wince.
“Yeah,” Brian nodded. “Real tense. How’s that feel?” he said, kneading the quarterback’s trapezius muscles. Roger had been working his upper body out hard, as if the sometimes agonizing physical therapy for his knee wasn’t enough for him.
“It hurts. But it hurts kinda good.”
“You’re a workhorse, Roger. You need to take it easy sometimes.”
“Yeah, Coach, I know.” Then he felt it, Brian’s big hard cock pressing on the back of his neck like a Coke bottle on a hot day.
“How’s that feel,” Brian whispered.
“Real good…” Roger reached over his shoulder, put a hand on it.
“Oh yeah. Real good,” Brian sighed.
Roger turned around in his chair, looked up with his wide, clear blue eyes. “Can I…can I suck it?”
Brian raised an eyebrow. “College boy, don’t you know the difference between ‘can I’ and ‘may I’?”
Roger laughed, the spell broken. “Goddammit.”
Brian roared with him. “You bastard. Get back in character.”
Roger got up. “There’s just one problem with that.”
“What?” Brian said, amazed as ever by what was inside Roger at these times, by what he, Brian, inspired there.
“If I was a real student, you couldn’t let me do…” He dropped to his knees and yanked Brian’s shorts down. “…this.”
“O fuck,” Brian’s eyes rolled up as Roger put his lips around the head of his cock. How was it fucking possible, Brian wondered, that every time they did it, the sex got better? Brian had spent his previous life accustomed to the ever-diminishing joys of substance abuse, and it amazed him that, somehow, every time Roger’s lips touched the head of his shaft, the high of it got more intense.
He knew what to do, knew what would inspire Roger to his best effort. He put his hands on Roger’s head, his massive paws engulfing it, and guided it up and down on his shaft, controlling the pace, the only initiative Roger could take in how he moved his lips, his tongue, as they rolled Brian’s meat around in his mouth.
Then Brian remembered – Roger on his knees was not good. He had to be in pain, putting pressure on the damage. He reached under Roger’s arms and lifted him up, pushing him onto his back on the desk, and carefully pulling off Roger’s shorts. Then he slowly pushed Roger’s legs up, watching for signs of pain. “That okay?” he asked Roger.
“It’s great,” Roger panted. “Now fuck me in the ass.”
“Yeah. Exactly. Reach back into my drawer. On your left.”
Roger fumbled for the drawer, got his hand in it. His eyes widened. “You keep lube in your desk?”
Brian smirked. “Only for bad boys like you.”
Roger laughed. “You’ve been planning this.”
“Dude. When we’re on the road? I have been fucking beating off thinking about this. Waiting for this day. Putting you on my desk and teaching you a lesson.”
“I’ve been bad,” Roger said. “So bad.” And Brian had waited, hadn’t he, Roger thought with a wave of affection. Waited until Roger was rehabbed enough that they could finally have hot crazy monkey sex again. Had finally passed the marshmallow test.
Brian grabbed the lube from Roger’s hand, squeezed the cool liquid onto his hand, roughly pushed his fingers up inside Roger, who welcomed them. It had been so long since Brian had been able to really…take him, good and hard.
“You want it?” Brian asked, a dark scowl on his face.
“Yeah! Fuck, I’ve waited so long for you to fucking nail me!”
“You had to get better. I had to be sure you were ready.”
“Stop treating me like a baby and shut up and fuck me,” Roger said angrily.
Brian nodded. “Okay, then.”
Roger’s cry echoed through the locker room as Brian stabbed him hard, began to methodically and ruthlessly pound him. Roger could feel it now, the frustration, the patient agony of these months during which they’d had some decent oral sex, or slow, careful fucks. He knew his lover, knew what he liked, what he wanted, because it was exactly what Roger wanted too – this, this rough careless clashing of two hot bodies.
Brian’s hands gripped his shoulders, his forearms pushing Roger’s ankles back, and Roger had his own hands grasping Brian’s biceps, holding on for dear life while Brian rode him hard. There was a twinge of pain in the knee but fuck it! All of Roger’s attention now was focused on his asshole, on his own hard cock bouncing up and down as Brian’s rhythmic strokes sent shock waves through Roger’s whole body.
“Ahhh!” Roger shouted, and Brian knew what to do, and like the professional athlete he was he adjusted his stance, his motion, ever so slightly, just enough to hit the sweet spot of Roger’s prostate again and again, knowing it would fuck the cum right out of his lover.
Roger gasped as his own seed shot straight up onto his chin, and Brian only spent a second marveling at how hot Roger looked covered in jizz, before his mouth was on Roger’s face, his chest, sucking up every drop before planting the salty juices back inside Roger with an open-mouthed kiss.
Then Brian’s head was next to his, his breath hot in Roger’s ear, his teeth gripping the lobe ever so lightly, so much command and control as the rest of his body went batshit crazy, exploding as he shot his load inside his lover. Only at the last did he bite down on the ear just hard enough to cause pain, sending a shudder through Roger.
They stayed locked in position, like two wrestlers stopping for breath, before Brian pulled out, carefully disengaged and brought Roger’s legs down. “How’s the knee?” he asked.
“Not as sore as my asshole,” Roger grinned.
Brian laughed. “Let’s keep it that way.”
That night in bed, Roger was still awake after Brian fell asleep. His lover was curled around him for now, but Roger well knew that soon Brian would get too hot, separate from him and roll over, throw off the cover, only the sheet outlining the contours of his big, perfect body.
Roger smiled as Brian mumbled and prepared to pull away, but it was only for a few hours, a few inches. In the morning, he knew from experience, Brian would wake up and roll over and pull Roger back into his embrace. Given the circumstances, he smiled, what more could he ask?
…THE END! HOLY SHIT I MADE IT! Thanks to everyone for supporting me through this process. Look for the “real deal,” the full, cleanly edited, expanded extended edition coming soon to an ebookseller near you!