The Locker Room

by Amy Lane

  In the winter it was chilly, sometimes cold enough for gloves and a hat, and the grasses grew long enough to be slick if they lay across the trail. They would also wrap around unwary ankles if Xander or Chris strayed off of the path too far, and since there was poison oak (which Chris had discovered in their first year, much to his intense discomfort and loud complaint) they tried to stay on the trail.

  But winter or summer, it was worth it. In spite of the fact that the hillside was becoming increasingly populated with large, multimilliondollar houses (apparently zoning laws stopped at ten, which relieved the both of them) there was the illusion on their little trail that they were completely alone. More than once, they had stopped and kissed, softly, passionately, in the same way they had kissed as virginal teenagers when theyd worked their afterschool McJob. Sometimes they skipped the run and simply walked, holding hands and talking of anything at all.

  The press had been inside their house, had silently pitied the “stoic, severe” Xander, had laughed indulgently at the “cheerful, sociable” Chris, and had left, never seeing the lie right in front of their faces. That didnt mean that their home didnt feel invaded, labeled, imprisoned under the weight of the expectations of thousands of people who loved their team as much as they did.But the two of them couldnt even hate the fans who placed the burden on their shoulders. They were, after all, only using the game in the same way Xander had, to escape a life that was sometimes too difficult to bear.

  But the press had never followed them on their run. There were no pictures of the two of them on their unpaved path, giving each other shit, racing each other for fun, or stopping and kissing passionately behind the thick stand of oak trees toward the center of the path. There were no pictures of the golden Labrador retrievers, Max and Mercury, chasing balls and sticks and pheasants through the underbrush and trying to trip them and kill them as they roared back. These things were theirs. This place was real. It was the unspoken reason between the two of them that although they had more money than they knew what to do with, they never stopped and landscaped the path, or tried to civilize it (with the exception of hiring someone to burn out the poison oak, that is. Chris had been applying calamine lotion too damned high up on his thighs for anybodys comfort.) It was something in their lives pure and untainted by the rest of the world, and they clung to it.

  It was a short run, even with the dogs crashing in front of him, one hundred and fifty pounds of clumsy canine good will. It was the second week of January, and the sky was the color of snow on the road, and the wind off the dirty silver lake cut to the bone. Xander never had gotten the hang of running in anything but old T-shirts and sweats, and he shivered his way through half his run before he decided he was getting old and spoiled and that hed rather spend the rest of the morning in bed with Christian.

  He threw the ball for the dogs a couple of times in their modeled front yard, and then left them their food in big bowls on the porch before coming inside, hot, breathless, and sweaty. There was fruit and pastries on the table, and his stomach felt like it might behave, so he grabbed a banana and a croissant on his way up the stairs, thanking Lucia, their middle-aged housekeeper as he went. Lucia, fully intent on her morning break, waved to him with her nose buried in the middle of her People magazine, and Xander gave her shit like he always did.

  “Lucia, why you reading that crap, sweetheart? Seriously, you know they always get it wrong!”

  Lucia turned around and looked at him, halfway up the stairs, her mouth twisted wryly.“Old habits are hard to break, Mr. Karcek. I understand youre dating one of those dancers from that show now; hows that going?” She held up the picture for proof, and Xander rolled his eyes. The girl—sweet enough, but completely devoted to her female choreographer—had asked him to accompany her to a charity dinner, and hed agreed. It had gotten him out of an unpleasant duty that month, and the picture was worth its weight in gold.

  “Its going great, darlin!” Xander said now, jovially.“Ill let you know when Chris is done hiding the body!”

  Lucia snorted.“Like you wouldnt be the first one to kill to keep that one to yourself.” She shook her head.“You ask me why I read it? Its because this shit is even more fun now I know its fiction. Now go shower.You smell like dirt and dog.”

  Xander laughed his way into the bedroom, and then stopped because Chris was sleeping with his head under the pillow, usually a surefire clue that the poor boy was either sleeping in or hungover. Xander wrinkled his nose at that last thought.It wasnt like Chris partied a lot—twice a month wasnt too much to be hungover, was it? Or was it three times? Or five or six? And it was never on game days or training days. Since it was a game day, odds were he was just tired from practicing the day after an away game. Airplane travel was getting rougher on the old system every year, and Christian grew visibly paler when he spent long trips away from home.

  Xa nder tried not to think about it as he undressed, but he wasnt as good at that as he used to be. It used to be he could focus on Christian, focus on basketball, and say to himself, I have them both.Thats all I need.But the toll… the toll this life took on the both of them.

  Xander shuddered. It was the third home game of the month. Christian would be hungover tomorrow, and Xander would likely be hurting right along with him. The next couple of days would be strained and painful, and they would barely stand to touch each other, and hed been a fool to leave Chris in bed, alone, the morning before the third home game of the month.

  He was squeezing his eyes shut tight and pounding his fist against the shower walls with rhythmic thuds, when there was a burst of cool air and a chilly hand caressing his backside through the spray.

  Xan tried to clear the water out of his eyes and was in the middle of saying, “Chris?” when another hand joined the first, this one parting Xanders ass cheeks, and a smooth, cool, metallic object, heavily coated with what Xan assumed was the waterproof lube, teased his opening. Xander spread his legs a little, and bent his knees, making it easier for Chris to push the heavy, stainless steel plug against his tight ring of muscle. Xander gasped, and relaxed, and let Chris push Xanders favorite toy slowly and relentlessly inside his asshole as his body clenched and recoiled from the cold metal.

  With a little pop, the wide part was in, and Xander gasped hungrily, still leaning against the wall, his hair dripping into his eyes. “Xander?” Chris asked, his voice playful, and Xander managed a shaky, “Glarrghhha?” “Race you!”

  “Awww… fuck you, Christian!” Xander gasped, shuddering, a train wreck of sudden want slamming up against his chest.“Youre dead. Ill make you come so hard your hairll get shorter!”

  He made it out of the shower with trembling legs and managed a frantic towel down of his hair and his chest and the rest of the body, even as he padded, wet-footed, across the cream-colored carpet. When he got to the bed, he saw that Chris had been busy when hed been showering— hell, probably even when hed been running, and the “sleeping in” was just a ruse.

  There was his lover, that prime, muscular, powerful, amazing body spread out on the bed, his knees spread, his backside in full view. He had his own plug—the kind with the graduated beads—inserted deep inside his body, and his cock, huge and rampant and purple, already drooling pre-come, being stroked in his fist.

  “You want to fuck me?” Chris taunted. “You want it? Youd better hope I come first.Thats the rule, right?” Xander groaned and fell on the bed, splaying his knees as he hovered over Chris.He didnt take time to kiss or to nuzzle, he simply devoured that hard, fat, wide cock, taking it all the way to the back of his throat, even as he fumbled with Christians hard testicles. Chris chuckled, but it was a breathy, aroused sound, and as Xander fell upon him he wriggled underneath Xander to engulf Xanders aching erection in his willing, wet mouth.

  Xander growled, having gone from quiet introspection to now now now now gotta fuck/be fucked NOW! In record time. God—he didnt know how the rest of the world felt, and hed heard of people growing bored with lovers, losing
interest, losing“spark,” but he could not imagine, ever, not craving Christians willing touch on his body, not needing his hands, his mouth, his tongue… oh God, (as Chris tormented him by pulling on the weighted plug) his fucking cock!

  But Xander had an advantage in this game —he was taller. He had full access to the private playground that was Christians erogenous zone.Chriss cock went down his throat easily (because Xander practiced) and his balls (large, heavy) were easily played with. His (exquisitely sensitive) taint was exposed by his spread legs, and Xander teased it with the gentle scrape of his nails. Around his cock, Christian begged/whimpered, the sound muffled and desperate—and vibrating right through Xanders cockhead.

  Xander had to squeeze his eyes tight and concentrate in an effort not to come.

  Goddammit, it was time to play dirty! He moved to the bright pink handle of the toy and gave it a tug. Christian made frantic grunts around Xander, and Xander chuckled, the sound muffled by what was in his mouth, as well. Chris was so sensitive here—the entire area between his cheeks seemed to have an electric hot wire straight to his groin.His nipples, not so much (Xanders nipples were very sensitive) but play with his ass, and the entire general area? If Xander just tickled his taint and pulled on that plug just… so….

  Xanders cock flopped out of Chriss mouth, as Chris squealed and started to gibber.

  “No no no no no no no no… God, yes!” Xander pulled up with his mouth and sucked on only the mushroom head, swirling his tongue and hollowing his cheeks to make the most of the pressure.Hed wrapped one hand around the base and was pumping the shaft slowly, in time, while with his other hand he was pulling… slowly pulling… slowly… the largest ball was now wedged solidly in Chriss entrance, and Chris choked out a helpless cry, and then, in desperation, lunged up with his chest and sank his teeth into the tender part of Xanders thigh. Xander grunted, but kept going, making that ball move… move… move….

  It slid out, leaving the next one in line, and Chris groaned and let go of Xanders thigh, probably leaving a big hickey, but Xander didnt care. He was still concentrating, and the next ball came out as excruciatingly slowly as the first one, and the next, and the next, and when they grew too small to matter, that was when Xander started pushing them back in again.

  And that was when Chris lost the race, but not in the usual way of coming in Xanders mouth until Xander couldnt swallow anymore.

  “Forget it,” he gasped.“Just fuck me. Cmon, Xander. I give. Game over.I need you.”

  Xander got rid of Chriss sex toy in a hot hurry, because whatever Chris wanted, whenever he begged for it, that was top priority and totally serious.He didnt flip Chris around, because there had been a thread of needing in his voice, and Xander wanted to see his eyes. Instead, he swung his own body around and splayed Chriss thighs up over his shoulders, angled his hips and drove in.

  Chriss head was thrown back, and his eyes were closed, and he was completely immersed in his own pleasure. Xander thought he looked beautiful, and bent down, kissing his neck, his chest, his shoulders, and not moving his hips at all. His cock was almost overstimulated, and there was still that enflaming weight in his bottom, and his whole body was trembling with need, but he needed to kiss Chris, be tender to him, treasure him, more than he needed to move.

  Chris caught his breath, and then lifted his hands from where theyd been scrabbling in the bed, and held Xanders face in place before capturing his mouth. Xander closed his eyes, lost in the kiss, completely and totally immersed in the man he loved until his chest ached with it, and somewhere in there, of their own volition, his hips started to move.

  Chr is lost focus again, and begged a little, “God, yes… like that—” And to Xanders surprise, he came, just like that, shooting slick and hot between their bodies before he wrapped his legs around Xanders hips and begged, “Dont stop!”

  So Xander didnt. He kept thrusting, kept thrusting, and then kept hammering, and pounding, until his entire body grew cold and then hot and the pressure in his groin, his balls, his ass grew excruciating and a primal sort of scream was ripped bleeding from his chest, and he came and came and came, as Christian spasmed around him.

  He couldnt seem to stop kissing Chris. Small, tender, peppersprinkled kisses scattered on his cheeks and his chin and his nose and his forehead and his lips. The last one on the lips, Chris stopped him, opened his mouth, and let Xander plunder, and Xander did, a sort of desperate, mangled softness in the touching.

  Finally, they had to stop. Xander rolled to his side and pulled Chris next to him. He reached behind him and gasped as he divested himself of what felt to be a pound of stainless steel up his keester. He let it drop on the nightstand to clean later, and then they just lay still. Their breathing evened out, and they grew quiet as Chris pulled the comforter over their hips.

  “That was a surprise,” Xander said quietly, and Chris nodded his head and burrowed his face into Xanders chest.

  “The other way hurt so much,” Chris murmured in explanation. “I thought Id try something else this time.” Xander nodded, like that made sense, but lovemaking had left him open, vulnerable, and susceptible to stoically hidden pain. His vision grew blurry, and he dropped a kiss in Chriss hair, and then a tear, and then another one of each.He felt tainted, and soiled, and like hed corrupted that entire wonderful moment between the two of them.

  There was a reason they tried not to touch on the third game day of the month.

  But he wouldnt taint the moment further by recrimination, or by reprimand. It was bad enough that the pressure bandage had been ripped off by the act of making love, and the wound was open and bleeding and infected and it hurt too much to bear.

  Two tears turned to three, to five, to Xander, stripped of his pretense that it was an ordinary day, holding Chris to his chest in what had become their marriage bed and howling into his own hard-bitten palm.

  THEfirst time Christian had gone home with a woman, hed called Xander in guise of a cab to come pick him up.

  Theyd had to stop the car four times for him to throw up on the way home. When it hadbeen Xanders turn, hed sat stoic in the car, unspeaking, and then murmured something about taking a shower. Chris had found him in the freezing shower, forty-five minutes later, huddled in the corner and scrubbing absently at his arm until the softened skin had abraded and bled.

  It was their one true lie. The day theyd first seen the house, Chris had told Xander that they would have to find some way to cover, and Xander had nodded. Uh-huh. Escort supermodels to separate events.Have Pennys friends beard them when they had to attend fundraisers. Find ways to look sheepish when a pretty girl was mentioned.Theyd seen the tape;theyd seen the shy smiles of the guys caught having a heterosexual relationship that no one was supposed to know about. They were going to have to do that.

  For a year, it had worked.

  For a year, they had played under a sweet man who understood strategy but not motivation, and who had won a whole lot of college games that way but couldnt seem to win a pro game. And then the owners had tried a reorganization, and theyd gotten Coach Strauss Wallick, and their carefully orchestrated cover had gone to hell.

  Wallick was an old school coach in the body of a short, trim, fiftyyear-old man.Every coach theyd ever had would scream at them about being whining little girls, even female athletes heard that, but Wallick? His gold standard for the puling fuckup was the “bitching little faggot.” When Xander dislocated his knee in that first season with Coach Wallick, hed come back three weeks early, for fear of being a “bitchy little faggot.” When Chris had broken his nose that year, hed let the court doc bandage his face, stop the bleeding, and had gone out on the court and run his heart out, just so he didnt have to hear those words.

  “W hatsa matter, boys? You spend all night giving it to each other up the ass? You wanna play better? Get a woman, fuck her hard, and stop being a bitchy little faggot!”

  It was hyperbole, sports talk, men-being-men, right? Except when you had a secret the size of Chri
s and Xanders, every repetition of the word “faggot,” “bitch,” “man-gash,” “fuck-twunt,” “queer”—God, the list went on and on and on and on—and it hurt worse, ripped worse, scoured their skin with barbs worse each time they heard it. What used to be just talk, just lockerroom banter, just the same dumb bullshit theyd heard all their lives—

  Suddenly every word made them cringe.

  It was that year, their second year, after Xander had won NBA Rookie of the Year, after Chris had led the league in assists and free throws, when everything should have been golden, that year, that Chris started drinking.

  It had been that year when the third game of the month had started to mean something horrible, had become some sort of festering black mark of their own secret shame.

  Because Coach noticed the two of them.Hed marked them—hell, the whole media had marked them. They were the happiness twins, right? They were the dynamic duo, Super-Xan and Bible Boy (Christian, right? Get it?) They were the odds busters: theyd played high school and college and pro together, and really—who did that? There were scores upon scores of stats that said not one goddamned team of two had ever

  made it through the draft intact. But Xander had the natural talent, and Christian had the drive to match him, and together, they were unstoppable.

  By the end of that year, that second year, Chris had started drinking and Xander had dropped thirty pounds of supposed baby fat and started taking ibuprofin and Pepto-Bismol for breakfast.

  “Hey , you two—gonna go out and get laid tonight?” Coach would call after games.Then hed snort, and say loudly to his assistant coach, or the physical therapist, or sometimes even the owner of the team, who seemed to like the two of them well enough, “Hell no,theyre not! Theyre gonna go home and have them a circle jerk together,cause thats what faggots do! You guys wanna get to the playoffs? Go out and get yourselves some pussy, goddammit! This „pretty-boy escort bullshit is only fooling yourselves!”