Phalen

Phalen - Reputation and Honor

Chapter nine

By Roy Reinikainen

"Hey, Eric!" Bobby Pickett said, as he stuck his head into the baseball team's meeting room. "I haven't seen you around, lately."

"Eh, Howzit?" Eric held up a hand in greeting. He liked all the players he'd met, but especially liked the always-smiling Bobby. 'Maybe I'm feeling sorry for him, or something,' Eric told himself. 'He always seems to be alone.'

"Going good," Bobby grinned, as he dropped his gym bag on the floor, and plopped onto one of the chairs across from Eric. "I swear," he shook his head, after slipping his book bag from around his shoulders, "it seems like I'm hauling around half the stuff I own!" He pretended to search his book bag. "Darn, I left my prized set of saute pans at home! I've got everything else in here; why not those?" He smiled at Eric's laughter. "Y'here to pick up Marty?"

"Yeah, we're going to get some dinner, then go back to my place and sit around the pool, and act as if we don't have a care in the world. Maybe we'll be lucky and the neighborhood children will all be inside, watching television, or playing games on their computer, or something. It'll be nice to have some quiet time."

"I imagine Marty'll appreciate that."

"Hmm. Why'd you say that?" Bobby was one of Marty's closest friends on the practice team. 'If I were the jealous type, I'd be jealous,' Eric thought to himself. Since everything started with Coach Cline, Bobby was one of the few people who could get Marty to smile. Eric was pleased that he was another one. Even Phalen was beginning to have a difficult time.

He'd told Eric recently, that he'd overheard some of the guys on the team talking about how strange they thought it was that the coach would show up in many of their classes, always when Marty was making a presentation, or participating in a demonstration. According to Phalen, the guys were laughing, recalling how one of the instructors, a petite woman, had asked the coach why he was intruding on her class. Then, when his answer didn't satisfy her, told him to leave, and stop disrupting things by his presence. "No one can think with you hulking around attempting to look intimidating," she'd said, pointing a finger toward the classroom door, obviously not cowed by either his appearance or his reputation.

Bobby looked up from where he'd absently been making crosshatch patterns on the tabletop with a forefinger. "C'mon, Eric. We all know that Marty is facing something that's causing him all sorts'a grief. Phalen has asked us to sorta keep an eye out, and hang around whenever Marty seems to be alone in the locker room. The guys seem to think that Coach Cline is after him for doing something wrong, or something. D'you know what's going on?"

Eric compressed his lips and nodded once. "I'm not free to talk about it, though. I'm sorry, but I can tell you that what's going on has nothing to do with Marty having done something wrong," he added. "He is under a lot of stress, and it's great of you and the other guys to watch out for him. He thinks the world of all of you. In fact, sometimes I can hardly get him to shut up. He's talking about how you hit the perfect ball to centerfield, or Shane sprained one of the litigious maximus muscles in his leg."

"Strange," Bobby answered, wearing a deadpan expression. "I thought only mules had a litigious maximus muscle . . . or was it attorneys? Hmm," he playfully scratched his head. "You did make that up, didn't you?"

Eric grinned, "Yeah, the bit about the muscle name. He told me which one, but I didn't know much more after he finished than before he began, other than Shane'd be okay after some rehab. Last night, he was talking about Pete Renslow's mother being in the hospital, and," Eric continued, "how Coach Bowen seems to be reaming his nephew a new asshole every couple days."

Bobby laughed. "Marty didn't say that."

Eric shrugged. "Just listen a moment. I only come by a couple times a week, and it seems as if the nephew is always being given a lecture. Is that sort of thing normal?"

Bobby's smile faded. "No, it's not." Bobby spoke in a low voice, possibly thinking that if he could hear the coach, perhaps the coach might be able to hear him. "It just started a couple weeks ago. They both seem to be angry all the time. Coach Cline tries to take it out on us guys, but Coach Bowen has intervened, all but once, and told him we're a baseball team, not a bunch of marine recruits to be shouted at and made to do pushups because we sneezed at the wrong time, or something."

"Chee, da man all jam up, yeah?"

After a second look, Bobby sighed, "Yeah, I guess, though I'm not exactly sure if you just suggested that the coach has some sort of digestive disorder, or something. That's not what you meant, is it?" Bobby asked, as a smile toyed with the corners of his lips.

Eric chuckled. "No. He seems to be in all sorts of trouble, that's all."

Bobby lapsed into silence, as he and Eric listened to Coach Bowen's voice, and the answering shout of Coach Cline, wondering why neither man had bothered to shut the office door. 'Wouldn't do much good,' Bobby thought, 'not with the way they're shouting.'

"Marty!" Coach Cline's snort of derision was easily heard, causing both Eric's and Bobby's attention to focus. "That kid is already tough enough to handle, thinking he's too good to do his job. Who allowed him to wear a uniform? He needs to be made aware that he's not boss around here. He's already too full of himself, as it is. Someone giving him a uniform is going to make him think he's good enough to be on the team. Well, I know for a fact that the team won't have him, and neither will I!"

Coach Bowen maintained control of his voice, even though his emotions were seething. "Jackson," he repeated, "lest you forget, I am the boss around here. Every person on the team knows exactly who gives the orders. I told Marty to wear the uniform. He was reluctant, since he's not on the team, but I told him to. I like Marty. It seems to me that every person on the team likes him, too. Other than you, I mean. I think he'd be an asset. . ." Before Coach Bowen could say more, Eric and Bobby heard a chair scoot across the tile floor. It was easy to imagine the nephew standing, facing his uncle, outraged color suffusing his cheeks.

Bobby's eyes widened, as he murmured, "what's going on?" Eric frowned and made a gesture, asking him to remain silent.

"What?!" Coach Cline shouted, sounding as if he were about to lose control. "You like that kid? After all you know about him? After what I've told you? You still like him?" The sound of a bat hitting the ball was audible, even in the locker room.

'A home run,' Bobby thought, 'surely.'

Coach Bowen lowered his voice. "Do you care to tell me what's really going on between you and Marty? Suddenly, Jackson, Marty has become the embodiment of everything bad you can imagine. Something's going on, something that's got you upset with the young man. What is it?" he asked, the words reminding Eric of the snap of a whip. "Has he not done something you . . . demanded . . . perhaps?" Both Eric and Bobby froze. The head coach's voice became sweet. "I'd love to hear . . . the truth . . . Jackson."

"Nothing's going on between us," Coach Cline almost snarled. From where Eric and Bobby sat, they could easily imagine the scene as . . . Jackson . . . gave a chair a glancing kick, and how disappointed he would be when there wasn't a resulting crash.

'He's wanting to take revenge on Marty,' Eric thought to himself. 'He's about lost control and he's probably blaming it on Marty.

"I've never touched the kid," Cline's voice rose. Gone was the carefully cultivated sophistication. In its place, was the real Jackson Cline, a pretty-boy bully who'd slipped from righteous anger to childish petulance. "You're almost accusing me of . . . he'll hardly even speak to me. He's a temperamental slug with an inflated view of his own talent, just like that Phalen kid. I hate prima donnas." Bobby felt increasingly uncomfortable. He was hearing things he had no wish to hear, and watching Eric react in a way which seemed totally at odds with his normal behavior.

Coach Cline continued. "At least Phalen, as much as I despise him, knows his place. Marty hasn't a fucking clue! He's always moaning and groaning about how unfair life is. He tried for a scholarship and failed, so, what does he do? He tries every trick in the book to get what he wants. Hell, he even approached me hoping I could wangle him a spot on the team. Imagine! The little bastard is just too full of himself."

Bobby watched in fascination as Eric slowly crumpled the empty Coke can he'd been holding. 'What is going on?' Bobby asked himself, before returning his attention to the head coach's voice.

"You mentioned Phalen." Coach Bowen was not shouting, but his voice carried. "I've never known him to behave less than perfectly."

Coach Cline snorted. "Another goody two-shoes, if there ever was one. That sicky-sweet smile of his. He's always trying to make people think he's so prissy-perfect, organizing a welcome back party for an injured player, n'all. He should tend to his own business instead of sticking his nose into my . . . everyone's business." There was a derisive snort. "He's a faggot, you know?"

Bobby glanced toward Eric, expecting a reaction, but got none. Neither did Coach Cline.

Instead of the shocked reaction Coach Cline had been expecting, Bobby and Eric could hear the smile in Coach Bowen's voice. "Yes, I know, though I prefer to think of the young man as gay. I've met Phalen's partner, Jeff, you know." His tone of voice told Eric he was precisely aware of how his words would startle his nephew.

"Jeff?" Eric smiled. Coach Bowen's offhand comment had hit the mark. Eric wanted to stand and cheer.

"Yes." The Head Coach, chuckled. "You know, Jackson," he said, "it's a small world. I, for one, did not know that our Doctor Layson is Phalen's partner's brother."

"What?"

"That's right," Ed Bowen continued. "Jeff is as fine a young man as is his brother. I would be proud to call either one of them, 'son.' The same is true of Phalen. I've never known a man who had the welfare of the team at heart, more than he, except possibly . . . Marty."

'He knows he's got his nephew flustered,' Eric thought. 'Keep it up Coach,' he mentally urged Coach Bowen. 'He's close to breaking. It won't take much, and he'll say something to incriminate himself.'

Bobby's eyes flicked from Eric to the locker room door, hoping someone would come in and diffuse the storm building in the head coach's office. Eric seemed unfazed, except when Coach Cline was badmouthing Marty. 'I know that Phalen's gay, of course, but does all this mean that Marty . . . and . . . Eric. Oh, damn; I'm learning things I don't need to know! I . . . I thought I . . .'

"What about Randy Shaw?" the head coach asked, in a deceptively mild voice which barely carried to where the two men listened. "What are your thoughts about him?"

'Randy?' Bobby Pickett thought to himself. 'Why bring Randy into all this. He hasn't been around for a couple months!' He paused a moment, while pieces of a puzzle, overheard snippets of conversations, began to fall into place. 'Does all this mean that Randy's gay, too? And, what part does Coach Cline play in all this? Whatever it is, Eric knows, and Coach Bowen suspects.'

'Coach Bowen still isn't willing to believe that his nephew is as bad as he's heard,' Eric thought. 'All of this shouting on his part, has a purpose. He's trying to break his nephew . . . make him say something which will confirm what he's been told. Hmm . . . I wonder who else has spoken to him, besides me.'

"Randy? What should I feel?" Coach Cline asked, his voice rising. "The guy's a jerk, abandoning things just when I . . ." He hesitated, possibly because he realized he had almost said too much. The conversation stopped as the guys on the "practice team" began to enter the locker room.

"I've got to go," Coach Cline said, abruptly turning and leaving the office.

Eric instantly sought to calm himself. All his training came into play, as angry footsteps approached. When they stopped, he looked up, briefly catching a glimpse of Bobby Pickett's ashen expression. "YOU!" Coach Cline shouted, pointing a wavering finger at Eric. Bobby's glance flicked to the man sitting across the table, then to the red-blotchy-faced coach, whose trademark sunglasses sat askew, his wavy hair, for once, less than perfect.

"You have no business in here!" the coach's voice slid upward. Behind him, the practice team watched in shocked silence, all packed close together, each trying to see what was happening. Phalen squeezed Marty's shoulder, hoping to comfort him. It was clear that he wanted to be at Eric's side, lending him whatever support he could. "I said, you have no business in here!" the coach repeated. Eric watched in calm silence, not moving a muscle, as the calm he sought, enveloped him. For all Phalen could tell, he had ceased to breathe. When the coach's comment seemed to slide off of Eric's shoulders, the coach repeated it.

"Are you deaf, Mister? I said you have no business in here." He pointed toward the locker room door. "GET OUT!" he bellowed.

Eric looked on impassively, then locked eyes with the coach and spoke in a conversational voice.

"No."

After the players' first sharp intake of breath, the silence in the room was profound. Even the sound of the dripping shower head Marty had requested to be repaired, was able to be heard clearly. No one had ever dared contradict the coach. When he told a person to jump, he'd made it clear, early on, that the only allowable response was for that person to ask, 'how high'. Into that silence, the sound of a wooden bat dropping onto the ceramic tile floor, sounded like a gunshot. Most of the team members either flinched or jumped in surprise. Eric continued to hold the coach's gaze, daring him to do something he would regret.

"Jackson!" Head Coach Bowen shouted into the silence. "Out! Now! You stormed out of my office, intent on leaving, so . . . leave!" All heads turned from the direction of the Head Coach's voice toward his nephew, who was shaking with suppressed rage. An opportunity to focus his anger was being snatched away.

"You'll regret . . . ," he began, pointing a shaking finger in Eric's direction.

Eric interrupted him. "Please . . . coach," he said, adding a world of meaning to the title. "Don't make a threat you aren't able to carry out."

"Jackson!" The Head Coach shouted, this time standing outside his office. "I didn't expect I'd have to order you out one time, much less twice!"

"We've got to try and help him, T. Did you see how he kept clinching his fist or biting his lower lip? I bet he was trying to drive off thoughts of his brother. All I wanted to do was to hold him." Kerin shook his head. "The poor guy's been through hell, and there he was, conducting a friggin' interview for school! Hell, if I were in his position, I'd be a catatonic wreck." He reached for his brother's hand. "I can't get the look in his eyes, when he saw you, out of my mind. I keep wondering what I would look like if I lost you."

"You like him, don't you?" Thian asked.

Kerin nodded, not moving his head from his brother's bare chest. "Yeah, I guess I do. I liked him even before I learned about his brother. He's so quiet. He was almost afraid of me." Kerin softly snorted. "Imagine, anyone being intimidated by me."

Kerin propped himself up on one elbow. "I'd like to get to know him better, T. He needs a friend, I'm thinking. But, I'm also thinking that you and I could do with having a close friend. Dani knows what it's like to be a twin. He knows how we feel without anyone having to explain, and we know how he feels. He doesn't have anyone, T. Oh, I'm sure he has friends, but he doesn't have anyone who really understands him . . . not like we do."

Kerin lay his head back on his brother's chest, and tried to scoot closer. "What are you thinking?"

"You're right, K. Besides, all the stuff that you've mentioned, us understanding each other and all that, I'm sorta wishing I . . ." he tried to shrug. "I wanted to hold him."

Kerin propped himself up and looked into his brother's eyes. "Me, too. Not only because of what he's going through, but because he's drop dead sexy. He told me he thinks of himself as a ninety-five pound weakling, but damn . . . I think he's hot." Kerin settled back into position. "Neither one of us can touch him, though. He's too vulnerable, right now. We'd be taking advantage of him. I'd like to have him with us, you know . . . when we're having sex, but I would like to have him as a friend more."

"Are you thinking that the three of us could form some sort of relationship, or something?" Thian asked. "I'm not sure I want to share you with anyone, K."

"I don't know about a relationship. I'm just sorta thinking out loud, right now. But, if the three of us did form some sort of partnership or something, you wouldn't be sharing me. You and I would be sharing each other. I'm thinking Dani could be a fun person . . . and I'm not only talking about in bed," Kerin chuckled. "If he were able to stop feeling so bad, I think he'd be a fun person to be around."

"To live with?" Thian asked. "As a lover?"

Once again, Kerin propped himself up. "I'm not thinking of replacing you, if that's what you're hinting at. I'm just wondering if the three of us might be better than the two of us . . . or the one."

"We don't know what Dani would think of all this, you know, K. Maybe he's so tied up in the memories of his brother that he wouldn't be interested in even hanging around with us, let alone moving in."

"We'd have to move into Dad's bedroom, you know," Kerin chuckled. "No way would the three of us fit on this bed. The two of us barely fit."

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Thian asked, his voice soft in the darkened room. "You really like him, don't you?"

Kerin sighed. "Yeah, I guess I do. I've never felt like this about anyone before, other than you, of course. He's a good guy. He's been hurt. Maybe that's some of the reason I feel like I do, but I think there's more."

"And, how long did it take before you had these feelings?" Thian laughed. "He knew exactly what Kerin was feeling. In only the short time he'd been around Dani, he had felt an attraction similar to his brother's. Like Kerin, he wasn't sure how much of what he was feeling was due to him imagining what Dani was going through, or because he felt genuinely attracted to him.

"How long?"

"Hmmm," Thian answered.

"About thirty seconds."

"You're free to talk, you know," Eric said, as he opened the containers of Chinese take-out, scattered on his kitchen table, and glanced at Marty, who was standing at the table's side, quietly watching him. Eric sighed, then sat down, ignoring the food. He patted the tabletop in front of Marty's accustomed seat, a silent invitation to sit. "Now, tell me what's on your mind."

Marty opened his mouth once . . . twice, then shook his head. "I . . . I don't know. It's like you were baiting him or something. You wanted him to lose control, didn't you?" The only response was a slight widening of Eric's eyes. "You're trying to protect me. Why?"

Eric leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "You're wrong. I am not trying to protect you. You don't need anyone to do that." He ignored Marty's silent huff of disagreement. "It's true! You're perfectly able to look out for yourself. But, you're right about one thing. I would like for that man to slip and say something to incriminate himself. You didn't hear the argument the two coaches had before you guys came in from the field. Bobby and I did, though. Coach Bowen suspects what his nephew is doing, Marty. He doesn't want to believe it, but he thinks what he suspects might be true. So, he's needling him. He was talking to Cline about you, Phalen, and Randy Shaw . . . all the guys he thinks might be the target."

"Phalen, too?" Marty asked.

Eric shook his head. "Like I said, the head coach doesn't know for sure that anything fishy is happening. He only thinks it might be. He's looking for a reaction from his nephew, and the one he's getting, I'm betting, is not the one he's been hoping for. The head coach is angry - at his nephew, and at himself. He doesn't know what to do next, and is hoping that his nephew does something which will both confirm his suspicions and tell him what he should do."

"Why are you standing up to the coach? You don't have any part in what's going on."

Eric laughed. "You think not?" He reached across the table and took Marty's hand. "Listen to me. You've become awfully important to me. When something affects you, it affects me. If Coach Bowen is doing his best to antagonize his nephew into doing or saying something, I can at least help . . . can't I? I want this whole thing to be over, so you and I can get on with being together without having to worry about what he's going to do next."

"I'm important to you?" Marty asked, in a small voice.

"Fo' shua," Eric grinned, then brought Marty's hand to his mouth to kiss it. Marty spread his fingers, smiling when Eric licked across the palm of his hand, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "Let's eat." He licked across the palm once again. "After that, we can decide what we want to do."

"I already know what I want."

"What? Beef broccoli, rice, spring roll?" Eric teased, touching the food containers, one after the other.

Marty shook his head. "No, I'm thinking that I want you." He closed his hand around Eric's.

"You already have me, Marty."

"Ho' boy, Jeff," Phalen, folded his napkin and placed it alongside his empty dinner plate, replete with perfectly aligned silverware sitting crosswise on the plate. "If Marty hadn't dropped that bat, I bet ol' Coach Cline would have attacked poor Eric. He'd be no match for that big hulking guy. Then, Coach Bowen broke in and told his nephew to get out!" Phalen shook his head. "I swear. I didn't know where to look. I half expected Coach Bowen to personally escort his nephew out of the locker room. I know that if Coach Cline had raised a finger to hurt Eric, Marty would have jumped him . . . the coach, not Eric." Jeff rolled his eyes.

"Once all us guys were cleaned up enough so we wouldn't offend people standing downwind of us, the whole lot of us trooped out of the locker room and escorted the two guys away from the Athletics Complex, just to make sure Cline wasn't hanging around, waiting for a chance to get even. I don't even want to think what it's going to be like tomorrow. Or, worse yet, what the coach is doing tonight. And we've got a road trip coming up!" Phalen looked toward the ceiling. "Yee gods! Maybe Cline will quit, or, better yet, Coach Bowen will fire him." Phalen smiled. "That'd be so cool to watch."

"Phalennnnn," Jeff chastised. "It's not nice to take pleasure in someone else's misfortune."

Phalen waved a hand in Jeff's direction, brushing away that thought. "Normally, I'd agree, but this man takes pleasure in creating misfortune and pain. Someday, I hope, it's going to be payback time."

In an abrupt change of topic, typical of one of Phalen's conversations, he started talking about something new. "Y'know, the other day Coach Cline commented on my ring." Phalen held up his hand and admired the ring Jeff had given him. "He told me I was a little young to be married." Phalen shivered. "He kinda sauntered up and stood real close, sorta backing me up against a wall. Whew!" Phalen waved a hand in front of his face. "That guy just reeks of testosterone, or something. Geez, I felt all . . . slimy . . . just having him near me. Even so, I was getting hard. He is such a good looking guy, I can't imagine how he makes me feel so . . . filthy." Phalen made a face. "I hate to think what it'd be like to be naked and having him paw me, or impale me on that thing of his." Phalen leaned forward.

"I swear, Jeff, you've never seen anything like it! Hell, I'm surprised he's got enough blood in his body to pump the thing up whenever he wants to get hard. I'd half-expect him to black out, 'cause all the blood's down there, and none's left for his brain. I guess it says something about the size brain he has." Phalen held his hands apart to show Jeff the size of Coach Cline's cock, and shook his head in disbelief, grinning when Jeff snorted. "If I saw a picture of that thing hanging between his legs, I would swear someone had Photoshopped it."

"Back to Marty and Eric," Jeff urged.

"Oh, yeah," Phalen smiled, shifting position on his chair and leaning forward. He thought a couple moments, then seemed to sag. "I don't have anything more to say about 'em. But," he brightened, "I never did finish telling you about the coach asking about my ring. I told him that I wasn't married, but that I was in a relationship, and that you had given me the ring. The guy actually snickered." Phalen shuddered. "Geez, what an ugly sound. Ugh."

"So . . . you're telling me you're a faggot," he said, while he gave me this nasty grin. "Y'know, I think he was expecting me to deny it, or something. When I said, 'yep,' he sorta flinched. "I'm surprised you didn't already know, I added, offhandedly. Everyone else does." Phalen smiled, squirming slightly in his seat, recalling the coach's discomfort. "Y'know," I told him, "it's never a good idea to try and hide something like that. It only makes people think you believe you're doing something wrong, and besides, no one's fooled. Are you . . . I began," Phalen laughed, "but before I could ask him if he was married, he got all white and backed off real quick. "No!" he said, as he turned his back to me and walked away."

Jeff laughed. "That smart mouth of yours is going to get you into some deep trouble someday."

Phalen grinned in satisfaction. "Most likely."

Dani sat back in frustration, feeling as if he'd been trapped in a mystery movie, locked away in a police office somewhere, flipping through endless pictures of people, hoping to spot, "the one who did it." He looked up and blinked, trying to focus on the sergeant who entered the room.

"It's quitting time, Mister Aarons," the sergeant said. "You've had no luck, I assume."

Dani shook his head. "After a while, everyone begins to look alike. Hell, you could slip in a picture of a cow, and I wouldn't realize that there was something different. I find that instead of looking for whoever that guy is, I find myself wondering what the life of each one of these guys is like. Surely they're not all criminals, or something, are they?" he asked.

The sergeant laughed, glancing at the large computer screen Dani had been viewing. "No, most of those people are university students, or instructors, though we have thrown in a few unsavory people we think might have some tie to the case we're investigating. You'd never be able to pick them out if you're looking for an unsavory street person, though, so don't mentally flip back through all those pictures. You'll only go cross-eyed."

"I'm that already," Dani answered. "So, I'm free to go?"

"You're free to go at any time. You're here because you want to be, not because you have to be."

Dani scooted the heavy chair away from the desk and stiffly stood. "Oh, yeah," he grinned, then sighed, glancing toward the glowing display. "I just wish Denis had left behind something to give me a clue. I've not got anything more than that brief encounter I had with that guy."

The sergeant sat on the corner of the room's desk. "Then, you've got more clues, at least, about your brother's death, than the families of the two other unfortunate young men whose cases we are also investigating. Those men's relatives don't even have a shred of a clue.

"Do you think Denis' death might somehow be tied to the others?" Dani slid an arm through the strap of his book bag, and hefted the heavy thing to his shoulder.

The sergeant shrugged. "I wouldn't hazard a guess. Just because some guy and your brother were possibly intimate, doesn't tie that guy to anyone else." The officer stood and gestured Dani toward the office door. "Thanks for being so diligent, Mister Aarons."

"Yeah, well," Dani bowed his head. "It's about all I can do for Denis." The officer gently patted him on the back, as they walked down the hallway toward the building's entrance. As Dani approached the door, the sergeant paused.

"A bit of advice?" he asked. "Do you mind?" Dani shook his head. "As you yourself said, you are doing everything possible to see that the person who you think caused your brother to end his life is apprehended. You can do no more, so don't berate yourself for not doing enough. You are doing everything possible. Also," he held up an admonitory finger, "Take some time for yourself. Go out with some friends. I'm sure it'll be difficult at first, but you've been wounded. You need to heal." He smiled encouragingly. "Deal?" he asked.

Dani smiled, reluctantly admitting that the man's advice was good. "Deal," he responded, shaking the officer's hand. "In fact, I've been asked to a friend's for dinner tonight. That's where I'm heading now."

"Has anyone ever told you that they think you're the most handsome guy on the face of the planet?" Marty asked, from where he was sprawled, naked, on his back, in the middle of Eric's bed.

Eric smiled. "Only one person I can think of has said something vaguely like that; my mother," he laughed. "But she has no other son on whom to dote, so I wouldn't really take her word as gospel. She's prejudiced. It's good to hear you say it though, and you think I'm the most handsome man on the whole planet! Uuuuuuuuu," he smiled. "Mom told me I was the best looking boy in Honolulu."

"Wait," Marty said, scooting to the edge of the bed as Eric stood at the bed's side and leaned over to turn off the light. Eric straightened, bemusedly watching as Marty propped himself up on an elbow and tentatively reached out to touch him. At the first touch of Marty's fingers on his chest, Eric began to stiffen. Marty seemed entranced, as he lovingly traced his fingers from one side to the other, pausing briefly at each nipple.

"I love your skin," he murmured, without glancing up. "It's like you've got a permanent tan." He flicked a glance upward, and grinned when Eric shuddered at the barest pinch of one of his nipples. "You like this?" he asked, spreading his fingers and caressing Eric's chest to his belly. A soft shuddering moan was all Eric could manage.

"So . . . beautiful," Marty murmured, barely loud enough to be heard, as he ran his fingers through Eric's thick, clipped pubes, then cradled his scrotum. He grinned when Eric's penis jumped, causing his testicles to shift position in the palm of his hand. Eric's scrotum was as smooth as his chest; his penis, straight and thick. 'Just perfect, to suck,' Marty thought, feeling his own cock squeeze out a drop of pre-cum at the thought of sucking Eric to climax and feeling him shoot.

Marty watched, transfixed as he watched a clear drop slowly ooze out of the head of Eric's cock, then slowly began to succumb to gravity, extending into a long thread. Before it broke, Marty caught it with his finger and smeared it over his lower lip. As Eric watched, he extended his tongue and licked across his lip.

"Easy," Marty said, as Eric began to tremble and whimper with building passion. "I'm not done with you yet." He leaned close enough to lick across the tip of Eric's erection, smiling at the taste and sudden hiss of indrawn breath.

Eric's legs were smooth and muscular, the result of using a bicycle for transportation. Marty lovingly continued his full-body caress down one leg, as far as he could reach from his current position on the bed, then up the other, and finally over Eric's buttocks as he turned slightly to allow Marty access.

"Are you wanting to shoot?" Marty asked, as he slowly teased the underside of the throbbing erection. His question was answered with a single nod and a whimper. "In my mouth?" Marty teased, spreading the pre-cum over the tip of Eric's cock with a finger. Another whimper, as Eric grabbed at Marty's shoulders to steady himself.

Marty grinned and leaned back slightly, as Eric's erection rubbed across his face. "Suck it," Eric begged, in a rough voice. "Please." For an answer, Marty licked up the underside of the erection, then over the head, slowly engulfing the entire length. He loved how Eric slowly began to fuck his mouth, allowing him to make love to his cock. Eric's lovemaking was as slow and deliberate as his kisses.

As Marty continued to slowly stimulate his cock, Eric felt the first stirrings of his orgasm, a mere pinpoint of pleasure centered on his prostate, which slowly expanded until his entire hole twitched and tightened. He felt his balls begin to contract, as if preparing to force the sperm they produced into Marty's mouth. Finally, the overwhelming sensation overtook his entire body. He thrust his erection over Marty's tongue, one last time, as he felt his cock expand, his testicles constrict, and the first shot of sperm leave his body. He felt as if he might drown Marty with the volume. He heard him swallow once, then stop all movement, allowing Eric's erection to slowly empty itself before it began to fade.

Kerin patted the sofa cushion next to himself. "Scoot on over and be friendly." He grinned encouragingly.

Dani compressed his lips. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. You don't know what just being near you does to me. If you touch me, I'm sure to embarrass myself."

"Being near me does something?" Kerin asked, looking intrigued. "What?"

"I churn out so much pre-cum I'm surprised I don't end up with a big wet spot on the front of my pants," Dani grinned. "I know my underwear is certainly all sticky. I can already feel it."

"What a wonderful compliment, Dani!" Kerin laughed, unabashedly. "No one, not even Thian, has ever told me I have that sort of effect on them. I'm assuming T has the same effect?"

Dani shrugged. "I don't know. I've never been near him enough. But I know you do. So . . . maybe I'd better stay where I am."

"No. I want you to be next to me so I can put my arm around your shoulder. Y'see, I want to hear you talk about Denis."

Dani tried to swallow, in a mouth suddenly gone dry. "Why?"

"Because I want to know what kind of person he was . . . and because you need to talk about him." Kerin studied Dani. "Since he died, has anyone asked you about him, your feelings for him, what kind of person he was, what he liked to do, or didn't like? By learning something about Denis, I'll also be learning what you're like."

"Why?" Dani asked. "I'm nothing special."

Kerin shook his head. "I disagree. So does Thian. The evening after you did the interview with me, Thian and I talked about you quite a bit. Y'know what we both thought?" Dani shook his head. "We hoped that we would become good friends with you . . . and," Kerin grinned, "we both wanted to hug you, to let you know that, even if no one else understands what you're going through, we do. We want to help, Dani." Kerin patted the sofa cushion. "Okay?"

"I . . . I don't think I'll be too good talking about him, Kerin. Hell, I can barely even think about him without breaking down."

"Then, I'll be sitting next to you, with my arm around your shoulder, letting you know you're not alone."

"Denis said something like that once," Dani murmured. "You're a lot like Denis. Maybe, that's the reason I think you're so cool."

Kerin took Dani's hand and squeezed gently, as Dani settled himself close-by. "Dani, you've got to remember, that I am not Denis. I may act like him, I may even sound like him, or tell the same jokes, or something, but I am Kerin." He twisted to study the man next to him, who had bowed his head. "If you're going to react to me in some way, please . . . react to me because I am Kerin, not because I remind you of Denis."

Dani silently nodded his understanding. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

"But, you are like him, Kerin. Denis would have been doing the exact thing you're doing with me . . . giving me comfort. He was always wanting to help. It didn't matter who, or where, or why. He was ready to help." Dani huffed a silent laugh. "He volunteered for everything. Beginning when we were in high school, and continuing on until he died, he volunteered four days a week at a local nursing home, sitting with the old folks, reading to them, or telling them outrageous stories, to make them laugh. He would hold their hand when no one else did, and give them a hug.

"They're old, he told me once, all irritated by how the patients in the nursing home were ignored. "They don't have a friggin' disease! Why won't anyone touch them? They need to be touched, Dani. They need to know that they've not been abandoned. He felt so bad that many of them were ignored by their families, so he tried to be family to each of them. Then, when one of the people he knew died, he'd go into mourning. He'd go to their funeral, then turn around and work harder to make the lives better for the other folks in the home. He always was really sensitive. He'd get all teary-eyed whenever I'd give him a small gift, some flowers or something. Then, he'd hug me . . . real tight . . . and we'd kiss. He always smelled so good, sorta clean smell, or something, I don't know.

"When Denis died . . . at his funeral . . . there were two busloads of old folks . . . from the nursing home . . . who came to the funeral to pay respects to the boy who cared enough about them to make them laugh. He would have been so proud to know that he had touched so many people's lives. That's always what he wanted . . . to make things better for others.

"On weekends, he worked with the people at Habitat for Humanity, pounding nails and stuff, helping build homes for people in need. He was always going to some sort of dinner or party, honoring one of the people he'd helped, when they moved into their new home, or something. Lotsa people loved him, Kerin, not only me.

"After those dinners, or whatever, he'd come home and lay next to me and tell me all about how wonderful it was for those folks to have their own home, and how proud he was to be a part of it."

"You and he were apart often, it sounds like, with him doing the things he enjoyed, and you doing yours?"

Dani shrugged. I guess. Mom and Dad really did try to see that we had our own lives, and didn't depend on one another for everything. Mom said she was afraid we'd grow up too wrapped up in ourselves, and not know that there was a wider world we had to live in." He shrugged. "But, every night, we were together. I was the person he would call with each bit of good news. I was the person he held at night, and teased, and . . . loved."

Dani could stand it no longer. The tears came unbidden, sliding over his cheeks to land on his shirt. This was not a wild release of emotion as he'd often had since Denis had died. This was something deeper. 'Someone understands what it's like,' he thought. 'I'm not alone. I can say things about Denis and me, and Kerin and Thian know what I'm talking about.'

He twisted in Kerin's embrace and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, thank you," he said, "for holding me, for listening, but most of all for understanding."

Jackson Cline swirled the last of the whiskey in the bottom of his glass. He knew he shouldn't be drinking. 'I'm suddenly losing control, of everything,' he thought. 'All cause of that friggin' Randy guy , moaning and groanin' to the people at the Clinic. Prolly made a buncha false . . .' The coach massaged his eyes, wondering what he had been thinking.

'Uncle knows som-thin's up. He thinks I've been hittin' on that trainer kid. What's his name? The one with the cute lil butt.' He downed the remainder of the drink. 'Oh, yeah . . . Marty smthin'. I've nevr so much as touched the lil twerp. Wha business is it of his t-get me inta trouble?'

The coach pushed himself away from his dining table, squinting into the dark, and wondering when the sun had gone down. After a confused shake of his head, he lurched to his feet, bracing himself against the table until the shaking of his legs settled down, and he was able to weave his way through the living room toward his unmade bed.

"Nev'r abused no one," he mumbled, fumbling, first with his belt buckle, then the waistband button and zipper of his slacks. "They all . . . ev'ry one of 'em came of their own free will. I din't kidnap 'em or nothin'. They jus needed sm'one strong in their lives." He grinned, as he worked his underwear off, then lewdly groped himself. "A'course, the way thr assholes gripped th ol' dick wa prety awesome, too." He sank to the edge of his bed, then fell back, his erection slapping his belly. "Can't help it tha I got'a monster between the legs. Their jus jealous, tha's all . . . jealous."

He rolled onto his stomach and slowly humped the sheets. "Wish ol' Denis was here. He's the best . . . even better than that Randy guy. "He's been hidin' from me, but I'll find 'im; then we'll have some fun . . . jus like ol' times."

~ to be continued ~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send a pic of the character(s), please ask.