Damage Control

by

Angelise

Timeline: Late summer

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Blaine threw his truck into park and stared down the street at the front door of Trent’s house. Beside him on the seat was the newest issue of the magazine, ‘Freshman,’ the issue that just happened to feature photos of the hottest gay pitcher to ever set foot in Alabama State University’s baseball stadium.

He looked down at the glossy cover. Thankfully his ugly mug wasn’t the one staring back at him. That privilege had gone to some football jock from UCLA with pecs the size of melons. His pictures were the secondary layout, further back in the magazine.

“Not far enough back, if you ask me.”

Blaine wiped the sweat from his face and chuckled half-heartedly. The temp outside had to be in the high nineties. Add to that a hundred percent humidity, and he could honestly say he was sitting in the hot seat, both literally and figuratively. Not that it mattered. The damage had been done, and he was definitely in deep shit.

“Trent is so gonna to kill me,” he mumbled.

A welcome summer breeze slipped through the windows, and he watched as the pages of the magazine fluttered open. Ironically the breeze faded just as the table of contents page came into view, leaving him staring down at a very familiar set of blue eyes.

Without even trying the memory of those three days came back to haunt him. The embarrassment of having his naked physique critically eyeballed not only by the photographer and his assistant but also by Nathan Chandler. They had prodded and fondled, caressed and squeezed every extremity, every muscle, every inch of anatomy which belonged exclusively to his boyfriend.

‘Good thing Trent wasn’t there to see it,’ Blaine thought. ‘Fists would’ve have been flying if he had.’

Thoughts of his boyfriend had been his primary focus during the entire photo session, reminding him over and over of the reason he was submitting to the indignity of being photographed in the nude. When the limp-wrist assistant intentionally fumbled with the fit of his jockstrap, thoughts of Trent’s heart-consuming kisses kept him motionless. When Nathan’s gold chain somehow caught on his nipple ring, thoughts of Trent’s rib-crushing hugs held him silent. When Terrence, the photographer, jokingly tossed a lens cover at bare thighs trembling from squatting too long over the pitcher’s mound, the image of Trent’s smiling face had stopped Blaine from throwing a fast ball that would’ve killed upon impact.

He slapped the magazine shut, then shoved it off the seat. It landed on the duffle bag filled with his baseball gear. The bag had been cheerfully given to him when he joined the team and thrown angrily at him when he left.

Leaning his head back, he squeezed his eyes shut and silently cursed. The curses halted the tears and that was what mattered. He had to first face Trent and then his parents. Had to hang tough, take whatever shit came his way. More importantly, he had to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t get his ass beaten to a pulp by his boyfriend.

“You were worth it,” he whispered.

For some reason the words didn’t sound as absolute as they had when he’d first uttered them to himself. Would Trent understand? Would his parents? Would they understand Trent’s happiness was more important than a fucking baseball scholarship?

Shifting to a more comfortable position caused the folded papers in his shirt pocket to rustle. Talk about be surprised as hell. He certainly was when the baseball scout from LSU approached him the morning after the Hornets kicked him off the team. Bad news traveled fast, obviously.

Sitting at a table in the Student Union, he’d been drowning his sorrows in a glass of what passed for orange juice when Jason Shaw took a seat next to him. The meeting had lasted less than an hour, and even now he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Within less than a day he had not only lost his baseball scholarship but had been politely encouraged to continue his education elsewhere. Twenty fours later, he had a new scholarship, a new school and was scheduled as the starting pitcher for LSU’s next away game. Not only that, but Jason had hinted that the college would have no problems if, for some reason, Blaine was the subject of another photo shoot. And, if the background for the shoot included the colors purple and gold, well, you couldn’t ask for better publicity than that.

Blaine yanked the papers out of his pocket and unfolded them. He stared at his signature on the last page. Would this fix things with his parents? Diffuse Trent’s anger once he discovered the extent of his stupidity?

God, he hoped so.

Stuffing the papers back in his pocket, Blaine grabbed for the small, black velvet box tossed on the dash when he’d left ASU. Inside was the commitment band he promised Trent last Christmas, bought with the remaining money received for the photo shoot. Pimp money, Trent would label it, no doubt.

He heaved a major sigh and, after exiting his truck, stopped a moment to check his reflection in the side mirror. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to mention my current predicament while I’m down on my knees professing undying love.”

Carding fingers through his hair, Blaine walked in the direction of the Anderson’s house but had only gotten a few feet when the front door opened and out stepped Trent and another guy.

“What the fuck is ‘he’ doing here?”

Coming to a complete and sudden stop, Blaine considered throwing the ring box straight at Chris Bowman’s ass-ugly face but cancelled that thought when Trent pulled the dude into a tight hug. Suddenly his target wasn’t Mr. Roving Hands but his cheating boyfriend.

“Maybe that should be ‘ex’ boyfriend,” Blaine muttered as he rubbed at his chest, hoping to pry free the brutal vice crushing his heart. The pain tripled when he got a second look at the action going on across the street.

“Fuck me stupid,” he growled.

Trent was kissing the bastard. Okay, so the kiss was on the cheek but shit, that wasn’t the issue.

Trent was KISSING another guy!

Turning on his heel, Blaine climbed back into his truck and peeled rubber. He forced himself not to look in the rearview mirror. No way in hell did he want a last look. Not at that. It was bad enough the image of Trent kissing Chris was forever seared on his gray matter. No use adding insult to injury.

“Damn it, Trent, like I don’t have enough on my plate already.”

To avoid early detection Blaine parked his Dodge Dakota in the driveway built specifically for his Uncle Dan’s section of the house. He needed some time to think, and the longer he kept out of sight of his family, the better.

Grabbing the bottle of water purchased at the last gas station, Blaine hauled butt for his second favorite thinking spot. The ancient oak at his grandfather’s place would have been his first choice, but it was haying season, and the pasture would be a hot spot of activity this time of the year.

It took him less than sixty seconds to cover the distance between the driveway and the treehouse. Scrambling up the wooden ladder, he collected one of the empty 5-gallon paint buckets that served as chairs and took a seat in the corner furthest from the doorway. It was the perfect spot in that it not only hid him from curious eyes but also provided him with a view of the back porch of his house.

Blaine dug the ring box out of his front jean pocket and popped open the cover. He stared at the intricately engraved gold band for a good ten minutes.

“I could have gone with silver,” he reminded himself, “saved a major wad of cash but . . .” In the end he’d decided to go all out. The elegant band was not only classic in its design but an ideal match to the gold nipple rings he’d given Trent last Christmas. Nothing but the best for his guy.

Snapping the lid shut, Blaine allowed the box to fall from his hand to the floor below. “My guy, yeah, right.” He tipped his head back in an attempt to stall the tears that threatened to slip free.

The image of Trent kissing Chris Bowman rose up to torment him, and suddenly there was no stopping the tears. One by one they fell, joined by more that were laden with anxiety and exhaustion.

Nights of endless tossing and turning soon caught up with him, and he was to the point of nodding off when a pair of hands tenderly cupped the sides of his face. Comforting caresses traveled down his throat, across his shoulders and along his arms. He murmured the name of his heart’s love and was rewarded with the softest of kisses. It wasn’t until he felt the tears being wiped from his face that he awoke fully and discovered the source of his sorrow kneeling in front of him.

A slow, easy smile spread across Trent’s face the instant he opened his eyes.

“Hey, Budman,” his boyfriend softly called. “Want to tell me why you left a trail of skidmarks on the asphalt in front of my house?”

His knees were pushed apart, allowing easy access to his body. Demanding hands soon had his tee up and off, and Blaine gazed somewhat bewildered at the fingers tugging and twisting the hoops that pierced his tits. It didn’t take long before the gentle torture became an aggressive investigation of his upper torso.

Cool air assaulted his nakedness despite the 98 degree heat surrounding him. Unfortunately the respite didn’t last near long enough, and Blaine gasped when sweat-damp skin plastered itself to his chest.

“Not quite sure why you’re home during the middle of the week but God, if you don’t touch me soon, I’m gonna explode.”

Instinctively his body responded to the huskily-spoken request.

“Trent.”

Whispering his boyfriend’s name, Blaine wrapped his arms around broad shoulders. Thoughts of betrayal faded into the background as he lost himself in the thick texture of Trent’s hair. He buried his hands in the wild mane, groaning with hunger when individual strands wrapped around his fingers.

“Damn, you feel good,” Trent murmured, insinuating himself even closer. “Hot, hard and all mine.”

It was the phrase, ‘all mine’ that dispersed the fog of lust descending upon Blaine.

“Am I?” he asked, pushing Trent away with a little more force than necessary. “Tell me, Trent, am I? Am I the only one fucking that fine ass of yours? Or has it seen action from someone a little closer to home?”

Utter confusion clouded Trent’s gorgeous green eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about?” his boyfriend inquired. “Someone closer to home? What the fuck does that mean?”

Trent stumbled to his feet. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at Blaine. “Did you get hit in the head during your last game? Had some brain cells knocked loose?”

Blaine followed suit and rose to his feet. “My brain is just fine,” he growled. Taking advantage of his taller stature, he towered over Trent. “Not sure I can say the same about yours.”

Trent threw his hands up in the air and cursed. “You fucker, would you stop with all the insinuations and tell me what the hell is wrong.”

Anger quickened his heartbeat, and Blaine struggled for breath. “Why don’t *you* tell me what’s wrong. You’re the one who had his arms wrapped around that bastard, Chris Bowman.”

Trent stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“You saw that?” he asked. “Is that why you took off like a bat out of hell instead of walking over?” Trent started to shake his head but then stopped and took a closer look. “You’re jealous,” he stated. “God, I can’t believe it. Blaine Matthews is fucking jealous of Chris Bowman.”

Blaine felt his hands clench into fists when Trent started laughing. He’d already contemplated the thought of cracking his boyfriend’s skull once before. One more smartass comment and that thought would be put into action.

“Why the hell should I be jealous? Chris isn’t worth my time and obviously, you aren’t---”

Stepping forward his foot came in contact with the forgotten ring box. The small square took flight, hitting Trent’s shin and causing the younger teen to glance down.

“What’s this?” he asked after collecting the box from the floor.

Unsuccessfully, Blaine tried to snatch it from Trent’s hand. “Nothing that should concern you. Give it back.”

Trent danced out of reach. “I don’t think so.” He repeatedly tossed the box in the air. “What is it? A PA?” He teased Blaine by quickly opening and closing the lid. “Is that it?”

Shifting the box from one hand to the other, Trent leered at Blaine. “Or better yet, is it a cockring?” He rubbed his crotch and chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be cool? Matching nipple rings, matching cockrings. Fucking hot, Budman. Absolutely fucking hot.”

Trent opened the box and pulled out the gold band. He examined it for a second or so before saying, “Hate to tell ya, pal, but I think you bought the wrong size. My dick is a whole lot bigger than . . . oh shit!”

Reaching out an unsteady hand, Trent glanced from the ring to Blaine and back again. “Is this . . . is this what I think it is?” He grabbed Blaine by the arm and pulled him close. “Am I an asshole or what? God, Blaine, you remembered. It’s a commitment band, right? The one you promised me last year?”

Trent nuzzled the underside of Blaine’s jaw. “Put it on, Budman. Please.”

Blaine took the ring but not the hand held out to him. “Tell me the truth about Chris and then maybe I’ll consider giving you this ring.”

Trent snapped his head back as if slapped. “Are you kidding me? Do you really think I’d cheat on you?”

Tired beyond belief and pushed to the very limit of his patience, Blaine grabbed his boyfriend by the shoulders and shook him. “Just tell me, okay? Tell me why you kissed that asshole?”

For a second Trent looked like he was going to resist Blaine’s demand, but his heavy sigh of surrender indicated otherwise.

“Okay, whatever. Just let me go.”

Blaine released his hold. His heart lurched slightly when Trent turned and headed toward the doorway. He was about to call out a protest when his companion stopped and leaned wearily against the framed opening.

“If you must know, I was consoling the dude.”

“Didn’t look like consoling to me,” Blaine mumbled under his breath.

Ignoring the sarcastic comment, Trent continued.

“As you well know, Chris hasn’t exactly been honest about being queer. He’s denied being one of us more times than I can count.” Trent glanced over his shoulder at Blaine. “Seems he had a good reason.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Trent moved into the doorway and glanced down. “Believe it or not, Chris has been in a steady relationship with Austin Steele since seventh grade.”

Blaine walked over to where Trent stood. He remembered Austin. The dude and his parents had been broadsided by an 18-wheeler while on their way to Easter services ten years ago. Both adults had died upon impact. Austin survived the accident but was permanently paralyzed from the waist down. To say he and his wheelchair had been the butt of many jokes and pranks over the years was an understatement.

“I know Austin,” Blaine admitted. “What’s he got to do with you kissing Chris?”

Trent spared a moment to frown impatiently at Blaine. “Chris loved Austin to the max, but was afraid he’d put the guy in danger if they ever came out to people. Guess you can identify with him on that one, huh?”

“Get on with it, Smartass,” Blaine gruffly demanded. The memory of his beating, the threats Doug and his cohorts had made against Trent were not up for discussion, not now, not ever.

Trent waited for an answer and grunted with frustration when none came. “Somehow, the truth of their relationship got out right before graduation, and Austin, more so that Chris, bore the brunt of all the teasing. Things turned nasty. There was a fight, Austin got hurt.”

Wiping a hand over his face, Trent gazed out the doorway. “Some of Austin’s wounds got infected, infected with that really bad staph you’ve been hearing about in the news.”

Blaine knew what was coming next. He stepped closer to his boyfriend and, with a sigh of sadness, slid his arms around Trent’s waist. “He died, didn’t he?”

Trent tipped back his head, resting it on Blaine’s shoulder. “Yeah, last Monday. Chris stopped by to thank me for coming to the funeral. We got to talking about Austin and well, guess you can figure out the rest. Chris got emotional, needed a shoulder to cry on and since I’d been through something similar with you, I offered him mine.”

Trent turned suddenly and hugged Blaine hard. “Do you have any idea how scared I was the night those bastards worked you over? Seeing you there in that hospital bed, your face beat to a pulp, your shoulder swollen three times bigger than normal. Chris went through the same thing, had the same feelings. Only thing is he lost his guy. Lost him, Blaine. God, if that had happened to---”

Blaine gasped when Trent claimed his lips with an all-consuming kiss.

“Don’t you ever . . . don’t you dare leave me like Austin left Chris,” Trent vehemently demanded. “I couldn’t . . . .” He looked down at his feet, “Ah, hell, Blaine, just don’t, okay?”

Blaine sank to the floor with his boyfriend held firmly in his arms. He silently took Trent’s left hand and slipped the commitment band on his ring finger. “If God’s willing, I plan on hanging around with you for the next ninety years or so. You hear me, Trent? It’s me and you. That’s if you forgive me for being such a jealous prick.”

Trent took possession of his mouth again. “I love you, Budman. Even when you’re being a jealous prick.”

Blaine started working on ridding Trent of his remaining clothes. “I so want to fuck you right now. Say you want it too. Say it, babe. Tell me your ass is mine and only mine.”

“My ass has always been yours,” Trent promised. He kicked his tennis shoes off and laughed when one went sailing out the nearest window opening. “Oops,” he giggled.

“Oops, indeed.” Blaine wrestled with a stubborn zipper. “Damn it, Trent, hold still. Can’t get your jeans off with you moving all around.”

“Face to face,” Trent panted in his ear. “I want you to fuck me face to face.”

Blaine closed his eyes and prayed for control. His request fell on deaf ears.

“Trent! Wait. Stop. Don’t---”

Blaine nearly bit his tongue in two when the hottest mouth south of the Mason Dixon Line inhaled his dick. He clawed at Trent’s shoulders, unsure as to what exactly he wanted his boyfriend to do. The mental debate of sucking versus fucking came to an abrupt halt with the unwelcome appearance of his dad.

Sean looked madder than hell, and the reason for his anger became crystal clear when a certain magazine hit the floor in front of them.

“Somebody want to tell me why my one and only son posed butt-naked for all the world to see?”

End of chapter 20

Disclaimer: These characters belong to me, myself and I. Removing them from their peaceful Southern home without my permission will not be kindly looked upon.

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