Calvin’s Cowboy

by Drew Hunt

  Calvin felt Brock taking his hand and leading him along the rows of lockers. The place hadn’t changed much. The lockers were painted a different color, but the tiles on the walls and floor were the same, as were the benches, though maybe they looked a little more battered and scarred than Calvin remembered.

  Brock sat down on one of the benches, and, as they were still holding hands, Calvin found it more comfortable to sit next to him. They didn’t say anything. Somewhere a showerhead dripped, but otherwise the room was silent.

  “Didn’t think my old key would still work.” Brock’s words made Calvin jump. Brock squeezed his hand in reassurance. “Coach gave a few of us on the baseball team keys so we could lock up after ourselves if practice ran late or something.”

  Calvin wondered about that ‘or something.’ Images of jocks indulging in circle jerks and maybe more crept into his mind.

  “Why you smiling?” Brock asked.

  Calvin hadn’t realized he was. He told Brock what he’d been thinking.

  “Nah, nothing like that ever happened, unfortunately.”

  “Which locker was yours?”

  “That’s right, we never had gym together, did we? Otherwise you’d have known ‘cause you’d have been secretly scoping me out as I got changed.” Brock smirked.

  Calvin snorted. He knew Brock was only teasing.

  Brock let go of his hand, stood, and walked down the row of lockers. “This one.” He placed his palm on one of the blue-painted metal doors. “Wonder if my old combination still works.”

  Calvin laughed when Brock tried the lock but didn’t gain entry. He stood and walked over to the locker that used to be his. Oddly, their lockers were quite close. He spun the dials, the lock disengaged and the door swung open to reveal an empty locker.

  “Wow, what are the chances?” Brock said, coming up to Calvin and, after pushing up his Stetson, nuzzled Calvin’s neck.

  “Yeah, what are the chances that a beautiful cowboy would ride into my life, sweep me off my feet and—” The rest of Calvin’s words were lost in Brock’s kisses.

  “Need you,” Brock groaned, and pushed Calvin into the bank of lockers.

  Calvin tensed. He was instantly transported back to when jocks would push him into these self same lockers, jeering at him, calling him names, and sometimes punching him.

  “Sorry.” Brock backed off. “You okay?”

  Calvin took a breath and looked up into Brock’s concerned, beautiful face. He nodded. “Just a ghost trying to spook me.”

  Brock took Calvin’s hand and brought the knuckles to his lips. “No one is ever gonna hurt you again. Not on my watch.”

  Calvin swallowed.

  Brock closed the locker door. “Wanna get out of here?”

  Calvin started to nod, then changed his mind. “No. Just hold me.”

  Brock did, making sure he didn’t press him into the lockers again.

  “What time did you say we’d pick Junior up?” Calvin asked, knowing he’d be sleeping alone that night, and wanting to put off the moment of separation for as long as possible.

  “About ten.”

  “What time is it now?”

  Brock looked at his wristwatch. “Quarter after ten.”

  Calvin sighed. “Guess we should make a move.”

  “Uh huh.” Brock made no effort to let go of Calvin.

  “Thanks.”

  “What for?”

  “For everything. For doing this, for being you, for…” Calvin choked up.

  Brock’s hands smoothed up Calvin’s arms and rested on his shoulders. Holding him at arm’s length, Brock stared into Calvin’s eyes for the longest time. “I love you, Calvin Hamilton.”

  “Oh, Brock.” Calvin closed the distance and hugged his cowboy for all he was worth. “I love you, too. So much.” Calvin was crying, and he didn’t care.

  “Wanted to tell you for a while, but…” Brock sniffed.

  “Me too.”

  Brock kissed Calvin’s eyes. “Was talking with Junior earlier. If you still want us to come up to New York for a vacation then—”

  “Of course I do! You’re both welcome to stay for as long as you like.”

  They stood in the middle of the locker room hugging and swaying slightly. Calvin hoped Brock and Junior would stay with him forever, but he’d take whatever he could get.

  Sniffing and blinking away his tears, Calvin pulled back to look into his cowboy’s face. Reaching up he ran the fingertips of both hands down Brock’s cheeks. “You’re the most beautiful man in the world.”

  Brock smiled then shook his head and sighed theatrically. “I guess it’ll be all down hill from here on out.”

  “Huh?”

  “Can’t get any bigger than the world.”

  Calvin grinned. “Don’t bet on that. There’s a solar system, a galaxy, heck, a whole universe for you to get beautiful in.”

  “You’re fuckin’ loco.” Brock kissed him.

  Just then Calvin’s phone rang. He looked at the display.

  “It’s my parents.”

  He thought about letting it go to voicemail, he couldn’t cope with any more bullshit from his mom, not just after Brock and he had said what they had.

  “You should answer it,” Brock said, stepping away.

  Calvin reached out for him with his free hand. “No, stay.” Pressing the button, Calvin brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Calvin, honey, it’s Mom.”

  Calvin rolled his eyes at Brock. “Hello, Mom.”

  “Did you have a good Fourth?”

  “Yes, thanks. I spent it with Brock and Junior.” If she thought he was going to avoid talking about them then she was shit out of luck.

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yes it was.”

  “Look, son, about this morning.” She paused.

  Calvin didn’t say anything.

  His mother let out a breath. “I talked with your dad and…well I think what I said might have come across as a little insensitive.”

  Ya think? Calvin thought, but out loud said, “It didn’t help.” Brock squeezed his hand, and Calvin squeezed back. Into the phone Calvin said, “Mom, I love him, and he loves me.”

  “I’m really pleased for you, son. Brock’s a good man. I was just surprised this morning when you told me.”

  Calvin nodded. “I can understand that. But what Brock and I have…it’s real…genuine.” Calvin looked at Brock, at his black Stetson that was on crooked, at his kiss-swollen lips, at his kind, caring eyes. “I just love him so much.” Calvin had to blink away fresh tears.

  “I know, and I’m sorry for what I said this morning.”

  Calvin talked with his mom for a while longer. When the conversation seemed to be winding down, his dad picked up an extension and joined in.

  Eventually, after a few more tears and a lot more fence-mending, Calvin ended the call and accepted a long hug from his lover.

  “Come on, let’s go get Junior.” Brock patted Calvin’s back. “We’ve got a vacation to plan.”

  Chapter 10

  Everything in Calvin’s living room looked neat, clean, and expensive. Brock thought the furniture was Mission, although he wasn’t enough of an expert to say for certain. The clean lines felt pleasing and masculine.

  Sinking into the cushions on the oxblood leather sofa, Brock sighed. They were here in New York. The plane ride had been…great. Calvin’s insistence on traveling business class had meant more legroom, which Brock had appreciated, as there had been a delay before the plane took off.

  Brock had been able to tell—despite his son’s attempts to appear cool and mature—Junior had been excited during the flight, asking Calvin endless questions, wanting to know what everything was and how it worked. Calvin and the cabin crew had indulged him.

  Brock smiled at how well Calvin and Junior had gotten along right from the start. He knew if it had been otherwise, he couldn’t have pursued a relationship with the man.

  “Here we go
.” Calvin came into the room carrying two tall glass mugs of hot chocolate.

  Brock took one of the glasses, but was afraid to drink from it for fear of spilling.

  Calvin got out two large coasters and put them on the end table. Even the table looked expensive in an elegant, understated way. Brock was pretty sure it was pecan wood, the top inlaid with etched copper.

  Brock placed his glass on one of the coasters, and Calvin did the same on the other.

  “You okay?” Calvin asked.

  Brock nodded and looked around the room again. At first glance the sage green carpet appeared to be one color, but closer examination showed the pile was sculpted, making a swirling pattern in a lighter green. His eye was drawn to the entertainment system in the corner, all cherry wood and smoked glass. A huge LCD television sat on top of it. Halfway along the opposite wall was a gas fire with imitation logs. Above the cherry mantle was a watercolor—probably original—of a cowboy, his back resting against a tree, his hat pulled low over his eyes. Brock smiled. Calvin sure had a thing for cowboys.

  “Nice place you got here.”

  Calvin tucked his legs underneath himself and leaned against Brock, who put an arm around him.

  “It’s just a place,” Calvin sighed. “Having you and Junior here helps make it a home.”

  Brock rubbed Calvin’s arm, not sure how to respond. He chose not to. It’d been a long day, what with the drive to the airport in Austin, leaving KITT in the long-term parking lot, the flight, and then the cab ride to Calvin’s apartment.

  “Junior settle down okay?” Calvin asked.

  Brock twisted to face Calvin and pecked him on the lips. “Out like a light. The flight and the mini guided tour of Manhattan from the cab tired him out.”

  Calvin smiled and kissed Brock back. “He seemed to like what he saw.”

  “Especially the Empire State Building. I didn’t realize they put red, white, and blue lights on it for the Fourth.”

  “Yes, you get a really good view from my bedroom.”

  Brock raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

  Calvin smirked. “Horndog.”

  The two exchanged kisses, Calvin climbing onto Brock’s lap, the deep sofa cushions giving them plenty of room to maneuver.

  “The hot chocolate is going cold,” Brock eventually said.

  “Don’t care about hot chocolate when I’ve got a hot cowboy.” Calvin leaned in to suck on Brock’s bottom lip.

  Eventually they made it to the bedroom—the hot chocolate untouched—both men trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake Junior.

  They undressed quickly. The lights were off in the room, the only illumination coming from the window. Brock went to close the drapes, but the view—lighted windows in tower blocks, headlights of cars traveling along the various expressways—caused him to pause in wonderment at the almost silent scene in front of and below him. Calvin was right, there was a great view of the Empire State Building.

  Calvin came up behind Brock and began to massage his shoulders. “You okay, beautiful?”

  “It’s different to what I thought it would be. Bigger, busier.”

  Calvin ran his palms down Brock’s bare arms. “It’s a view I never tire of seeing.” Turning Brock to face him, Calvin kissed him on the lips. Cupping Brock’s face, Calvin stared into his eyes. “Another view I will never tire of seeing.”

  Brock kissed him back. “I love you.”

  “Not nearly as much as I love you.”

  They kissed for a few moments; the glow from the city illuminated Calvin’s face looking adoringly up at him.

  “Thank you,” Calvin whispered.

  “What for?” Brock whispered back.

  “For coming here. For as long as you stay, I’ll do everything I can to show you how much I love you, how much I want you and Junior to be a part of my life, and—”

  Brock silenced him with a kiss. “Should be me thanking you. All the things you’ve done for me, for Junior.”

  Brock closed his eyes and recalled the visit to the bankruptcy lawyer. He shuddered. Calvin had gone with him—and when it had gotten too much—he’d reached out and taken Calvin’s hand. Brock hadn’t cared what—if anything—the lawyer had thought. That evening, and every evening since, Calvin had listened to him when the shame of failure had seemed overwhelming. Calvin had whispered words of love and reassurance, promising Brock he’d get through it and come out whole on the other side. Calvin had been there for him every step of the way.

  Despite Brock’s protests, Calvin had paid the garage repair bills for his truck, had paid for his hat reblocking, had paid for countless other things. Then when Brock had announced he’d finished the renovations on Calvin’s folk’s place, Calvin had paid—in cash—the balance of his bill, plus an extra five hundred dollars. Despite Brock’s attempts to hand back the money, Calvin had reminded Brock they’d agreed he would pay a bonus if Brock completed the work quickly. And, as they’d shaken on the deal, Calvin said he wasn’t going back on it.

  Opening his eyes again, Brock stared into his man’s face. “No, darlin’, I’ll say it again, it’s me who needs to thank you,” he whispered.

  “You being here is thanks enough.”

  Calvin laid a trail of kisses starting at Brock’s throat, moving down his chest, belly, groin, then along the length of his stiff dick.

  “Welcome to New York City.” The man took Brock’s dick down his throat in one swallow.

  Brock gasped. “You’re sure makin’ me feel real welcome.”

  Getting blown while looking down on the city that never sleeps was a unique experience for Brock, one he thought he could get used to. But before he could even get used to this blowjob, Calvin pulled off.

  “Wha?”

  “Bed’s more comfortable.”

  Brock smiled and took Calvin’s hand.

  Calvin was right. The bed was one of the most comfortable things Brock had ever lain on. If he weren’t so wrapped up in making out with his lover, he’d have asked about the four-poster that had to be bigger than a standard king size.

  “Wanna try something,” Calvin said between kisses.

  Brock licked Calvin’s neck. “Anything you want, darlin’.”

  Calvin picked up Brock’s hard member that was oozing a steady stream of juice onto the quilted bedspread. “With you still having all of what God gave you,” Calvin ran his finger along Brock’s foreskin, “and me not, I thought we could do this.”

  Calvin lined the tip of his penis up with the end of Brock’s, and pulled Brock’s loose skin forward over Calvin’s exposed cock head.

  “Docking?” Brock asked.

  Calvin kissed him. “Makes me feel closer to you.”

  “Yeah.” The sensation felt odd, but a good kind of odd.

  Calvin began to jack the two of them. At one point he got too enthusiastic and the connection broke. Bending down and licking away the excess pre-seminal fluid from Brock’s cock head—both of them were quite prodigious leakers—he joined them again.

  “Want you to come over my cock.”

  Brock loved Calvin’s dirty talk. It was so unexpected from such a put-together conservative kind of guy. Brock also loved how Calvin would take charge and direct things.

  To muffle his whimpers, Brock put a forearm over his mouth. However, Calvin soon removed it, replacing it with his own mouth.

  The connection broke again, but both of them were too fired up to care. Calvin climbed on top of Brock and ground their groins together.

  “Need you, cowboy. Come for me.”

  “Almost there, darlin’,” Brock growled through clenched teeth, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

  Then it happened. Brock felt himself teeter on the edge…then slowly tilt over…and fall, as if in slow motion. Calvin was there to catch him, silencing his whimpers.

  “Got you, beautiful. Won’t ever let you fall.”

  It wasn’t the most intense orgasm Brock had ever had, but it was one of the longest. Fee
ling safe and loved in Calvin’s arms, Brock soon drifted off to sleep. His earlier worries of being in a strange city, of being bankrupt, of not having a job faded into warm, fuzzy, comforting darkness.

  * * * *

  “First order of business,” Calvin said, pouring himself and Brock cups of coffee and Junior a glass of orange juice, “is breakfast, and then we’re going shopping.”

  “Huh?” Brock mumbled, rubbing his whiskery chin. All he could focus on was the need for caffeine.

  “I don’t have anything in the pantry, so we’ll need to go out for breakfast.”

  “Okay,” Junior said. “And I guess the shopping is for groceries.”

  Calvin nodded. “After we’ve been clothes shopping.”

  “Huh?” Brock repeated. The black coffee hadn’t started to kick in yet. Had Calvin said they were going shopping for clothes? He and Junior had packed two suitcases full of clothes.

  “Junior,” Calvin addressed Brock’s son. “What did your daddy forget to pack?”

  Junior looked confused.

  “What does he wear most days, but didn’t bring with him?”

  The light of understanding dawned in the boy’s eyes. “His cowboy hat.”

  “Exactly,” Calvin said. “And probably his western shirts, belts, and boots, too.”

  “I didn’t want to look like a hick,” Brock protested.

  “You didn’t want to look like a hick.” Calvin transferred his attention from Brock to Junior. “Please cover your ears for a moment.”

  Junior laughed, but didn’t comply.

  Turning back to Brock, Calvin said, “Seriously, Brock, if you don’t want to wear those types of clothes, that’s okay, but if you chose not to wear them because you’d be embarrassed, then that’s wrong.”

  “How’d you mean?”

  “New York has everything. You’ll see people in traditional African clothing, as well as Indians, Muslims, and Jews wearing their traditional garb. We see it all, and nobody blinks an eye. People can be who they are in New York. So if you’re a cowboy, you can dress like a cowboy.”

  “Well, I do kinda miss wearin’ my hat,” Brock said sheepishly.

  “Then it’s settled. We’ll mosey on over to the western goods store an’ get this hick a hat.” Winking at Junior, Calvin said, “You can uncover your ears now.”