Clean Cut

Part Two
Domesticity

*My butt is getting numb, damn it.* Bryant shifted, trying to stimulate the blood flow to his slowly deadening buttocks. *There's a perfectly good bench down there, completely empty. Why can't I go sit on it?*

Bryant sighed. He couldn't because Pri had told him to sit on the STEPS, and that meant steps--not bench, grass, or chair in the gym entry hall. It was always the same when he had to wait out here. He'd asked why once, and Pri had casually replied that it was because he looked good like this. *Which makes as much sense as the reasons for some of the other things he makes me do,* Bryant grumbled mentally.

He didn't see why he couldn't go over to the student union while he was waiting for Priory to finish up with the beginners class. Having to actually teach the freshmen HOW to swim (instead of working with the older students on refining their techniques and improving their speed) always left the swim coach in a foul mood, and Bryant was heartily sick of being responsible for putting him in a better one.

*I could have asked to go to the library, I suppose--he usually allows that.* Bryant wasn't aware of it, but he was scowling. It was a surprisingly dark expression on a face that seemed meant for something much sunnier.

He shifted again. His life 'in the system' had taught him patience, and he knew how to wait, but being uncomfortable while he did it was irritating as hell. At least when he'd been waiting for a case worker to finish paperwork or a foster parent to remember to pick him up there had always been decent seats.

He heard a stir behind him--the slap of feet and buzz of conversation in the gym hall muffled by the doors, then clear as the students moved out into the late afternoon sunlight. Bryant kept his head slightly down, not looking around in case Priory had come to the doors. He did that sometimes--checking to be sure that Bryant wasn't paying too much attention to the freshmen bouncing past him, all of them glowing from their showers, but still smelling faintly of chlorine. He wasn't supposed to be interested in anyone else, but he couldn't help it sometimes.

Like this morning. He hadn't been waiting for anyone-ory ory had told him to sit outside the gym till just be his his scheduled workout time. Again, no particular reason. It was pure chance that Trenton Vittelli had decided to come in for some early laps. Bryant snorted softly. *Yeah. Try to convince Pri of that if he finds out. He'll be sure that either I or Trent are plotting something. I'm not sure w ass assumption would be worse. I guess I can handle a few more stripes on my ass easily enough, but I'd hate for him to start harassing Trent if he got suspicious. Trent's a good kid.* Bryant felt no irony in thinking of someone just two years his junior as a 'kid'. Somehow it just seemed natural.

Trent was also a very hot kid. Bryant remembered that morning. The snazzy sports car would have gotten his attention, even if the fine guy in the front seat hadn't. But he noticed. Oh, yes, he noticed. He recognized his team mate immediately--that mop of red-brown curls was hard to mistake. Bryant waited for him to get out, anticipating the glimpse eanseans-clad butt he should be able to get as Trenton climbed past him.

The boy had slid across the seat and kissed the driver. That had made Bryant blink, because the driver was another man, and this wasn't any on-the-cheek 'see ya later, bro' sort of buss. Judging from the tiny motions of Trent's head and the way the other man's hand had played in the boy's hair it was a full-fledged lip lock. Bryant had licked his lips without realizing it.

They had parted, and the driver had glanced over Trent's shoulder. Bryant had found himself looking into chocolate brown eye, and he had dropped his gaze quickly. The face had been strong, humorous--and interested. Bryant had been a little naive when he entered college, but he'd gradually become aware of the effect he had on some people, and he'd come to enjoy it. But Trenton was obviously involved with the blonde man and even if Bryant hadn't been involved with someone, he wouldn't have wanted to risk hurting the young man.

Trenton and his friend had passed a few words, then Trent had unfolded himself from the low slung car, grabbing his gym bag out of the narrow space behind the front seat. Bryant had watched as Trent approached, moving with a loose-limbed, easy grace. Instead of passing him, though, he had stopped just below him. "Hey, Bryant. I'm glad to see I'm not the only early bird."

It would have been rude to ignore him, so Bryant looked up to answer, and was captured. *I thought green eyes were supposed to be cool,* he had thought. But Trenton's were warm, as warm as the smile he was offering. Bryant almost smiled back, but caught himself. "Hi, Trenton."

"You ARE going to swim, right?"

Bryant had nodded. "Yeah. I need to do at least twenty laps, but thirty would be better."

Trenton had checked his watch. "Well, come on, then, or we won't be done before our first class. We can be swim buddies."

"That would be cool." He'd stood up, taking his bag, and they had gone up into the gym. Bryant had glanced back to see the driver slip on a pair of shades before driving off. Had that been another look?

Bryant closed his eyes, smiling faintly as he remembered that morning. He'd forced himself not to stare while they changed, though he'd had to turn his back when Trenton skimmed down his briefs and reached for his trunks. As they swam, Trenton's smooth, sleekly muscled body inspired heated thoughts. Luckily the water in the pool was a little chilly, and he was busy with his own exercise, so he hadn't run the risk of getting an embarrassing, hard to hide boner. When they'd showered, he'd turned his water full on 'cold', just to be on the safe side. Trenton had caught some of the spray, and had yelped, dancing back. "Damn, man! You trying to toughen up, or what? Heck, self-denial should only be taken so far."

That had been when Bryant took his first really good look at the naked Trenton, and he was suddenly gratefully for the chilly water. Trenton had a pale honey colored, all over tan, no white patches, so he must sunbathe nude. The images that called up made Bryant's mouth go dry. And, aside from the hair on his head, he was completely and totally smooth--there wasn't a pubic hair in sight. It made him look more naked than Bryant had ever imagined was possible. Bryant knew that some serious swimmers shaved their body hair, but he'd always assumed they drew the line at the pubes.

He had jerked his eyes away from the tempting sight of Trenton's cock resting against velvety soft balls, then had quickly looked to Trenton's face when he found himself staring at the younger boy's cold-puckered nipples. Trenton had just smiled and patted his arm, saying, "Hurry up, before you faint from hypothermia. Then I'd have to warm you up." Bryant, shivering and dripping, had stared after Trent as he went into the locker room to dress.

The memory of the flex of Trenton's buttocks sent a pleasant twinge of warmth through Bryant's crotch. He was going to remember that image later tonight. Bryant closed his eyes. *Yeah, only this time the water will be steamy. I'll push him up against the tile wall, and he'll squirm, but he won't be trying to get away, and I'll just rub all over that sexy body. Then I'll take the soap and...*

"What the hell are you grinning about? You look like an idiot, sitting there with your eyes closed and a shit eating grin on your face."

Bryant had trained himself too well to sigh--that might have earned him a cuff. He opened his eyes to look up at the middle aged man standing beside him, staring down with his usual displeased expression. Bryant carefully arranged his face into a bland mask before answering. "Private joke, sir."

Priory Lowell slapped him on the back of the head. "When are you going to learn, son? You don't HAVE anything private from me."

Bryant gritted his teeth, but only for a second--Priory could notice that, too, and he didn't fancy a beating when they got home. "Yes, sir. Sorry. We were reading P.G. Wodehouse in English today, and I was just remembering something in one of the Jeeves and Wooster stories."

Priory snorted. "Lot of fag nonsense, if you ask me. They ought to be teaching you Hemingway." Bryant had read Hemingway, and the sparse writing style had bored him to distraction, but he wasn't about to say that. "Well, don't just sit there. Move your lazy ass." The older man started down the steps without a backward glance, confident that Bryant would follow. Bryant did.

In the SUV Priory gave Bryant a raking look as the younger man snapped on his seat belt. "How many laps this morning?"

"Twenty." At the hard stare Bryant said, "It was all I had time for. I had to pick up a book at the library."

"Why didn't you do that last night?"

"Because it hadn't been turned in yet. They left a message on the answering machine for me to pick it up before class if I wanted it. Didn't you check the messages?" He knew that remark was a mistake the moment he said it. It hinted that Priory might have neglected something, no matter how trivial. Bryant said hastily. "No, wait... I erased it." He hadn't, but the first thing Priory did when they got home was take a pee, then get a beer. Bryant should have time to get to the answering machine before he did.

"Erased the message before I had a chance to hear it?" Priory's voice was hard. They were stopped at a light, and the older man turned icy grey eyes on Bryant. "What exactly are you hiding, boy?"

*Shit. Why do I try? I can't win.* Bryant didn't try to stifle his sigh as he slumped against the door. Might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. They rode the rest of the way home in ominous silence.

As he had known he would, Priory went into the bathroom, and Bryant was able to get to the phone and erase the message. Then he went to his room.

Bryant paused in the hallway, staring in loathing at the strings of clear beads that curtained the door way to his room. Priory had removed the door two months after Bryant had moved in, making some lame excuse about redecorating. He'd done the same thing with Bryant's bathroom. It was made clear without a word being said that Priory intended to be privy to every corner of Bryant's life.

*I should have left then. I should have just said fuck the scholarship and took a job digging ditches. But no, I had to have an education.*

Bryan pushed his way through the beads. One good thing about them--Lowell couldn't come into his room unannounced. The clashing always gave him away, but Bryant could never be sure how long he had stood in the darkened hallway--watching.

Bryant went into the bathroom and quickly stripped, depositing his clothes in the hamper. He checked himself to be sure he hadn't sweated during the afternoon. If he had, he'd have to grab a shower before Priory came. The older man took it as a personal affront if Bryant ever smelled of anything but soap or the fruity cologne he gave him on Christmas and birthdays.

Noting a hint of musk, Bryant gave his pits and crotch a thorough wipe, then spritzed on more of the sweet cologne. Satisfied that he wouldn't offend Priory's senses, he went into his room, smoothed the already neat blanket on his bed, and arranged himself across the mattress on his belly. Then he waited.

He hadn't finished his preparations a moment too soon. It wasn't more than a minute before he heard Priory's heavy footsteps in the hallway. The way he was positioned, Bryant was facing away from the door way. The beads clattered and he heard the squeak of athletic shoes on the bare wood of the floor. The steps stopped just behind him, and he heard the slither of a belt being pulled from its loops. There was a faint gurgle as Priory drank the last of his beer, and Bryant had to fight down a flinch. There was one video involving bottles that Priory was particularly fond of, and Bryant dreaded the idea that he might someday decide to recreate the action. He was relieved when he heard the click of the bottle being set down on his night stand.

"Why do you deserve this?" ant ant knew that Priory was trying to sound cool and magisterial, but there was a tone of nasty satisfaction in his voice.

*What will earn me the least number of strokes without it looking like I'm trying to get out of it?* "I was wasting my mental effort on frivolous things. I varied my ordered schedule without asking permission. I didn't inform you of the message." *Even though you probably would have clouted me for waking you up.* "I erased the message before you could hear it. I tried to make excuses for my transgressions." *Even though they were trivial and mostly NOT MY FUCKING FAULT!* "And I had a bad attitude." *There. That covers a multitude of imagined sins.*

It satisfied Priory, because he said, "What do you deserve?"

"I deserve to be punished, sir. Please correct me."

The belt swished, and Bryant braced himself. The stroke only stung--it didn't bite, and he almost relaxed. Priory wasn't in as bad a mood as he had feared. The whipping was short and almost mild. He doubted that there'd be any welts.

When the belt stopped falling across his ass and thighs, Bryant waited warily. Priory would either get the lube out of the night stand, open his pants, and fuck him, or put his belt back on and go out to the kitchen for another beer. He let his head drop with relief when he heard the subtle sound of the belt being drawn back through its loops. "Hurry up and fix dinner." The beads clashed again, and the footsteps retreated down the hall.

Bryant rolled over on his back. The sting was already fading to a tingle. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering what would happen if he ever just snatched the belt out of Priory's hands and wrapped it around his bull neck, and...

He sighed, sitting up. He'd never do it. For one thing, he knew what happened to people who committed murder. There was no chance that the authorities would believe it was anyone else but him. In fact, he often found himself hoping that Priory would be careful on his infrequent drunken pub crawls. If he was ever killed in some back alleyway, Bryant wanted to be damn sure he had an unshakable alibi.

He pulled on his clothes--another white tee-shirt, and baggy white shorts. He wasn't allowed to wear any color, even when he did his chores. Consequently he went through a lot of clothes, since stained and dingy garments were automatically destroyed. He seldod tid time to get anything broken in before it was discarded. That was something else Priory held over his head--the cost of clothing him. Bryant knew better than to tell him that HE wouldn't mind it if he occasionally wore something more than fifteen or twenty times. Insolence was severely punished.

In the kitchen Bryant checked the refrigerator, and was relieved to see that the chicken he'd taken out that morning had thawed. He stewed it with dumplings, and made a salad. He knew that Priory would drench the lettuce and tomatoes in sweet dressing, then pick out the croutons and leave the rest, but he also knew that the older man would pitch a bitch if he thought Bryant hadn't expended enough effort on the meal.

When it was done they ate in silence. Bryant wasn't to speak unless spoken to, and Priory was rsedrsed in the latest issue of Sports Illustrated. That was fine with Bryant, since he had nothing to say to the man. He was irritated, though, because he couldn't start the dishes till Priory was done and left the table, and Priory had found something to interest him. Bryant sat while the gravy congealed on the dishes, hands clenched in his lap so he wouldn't fidget.

Finally Priory stood, stretching. He burped loudly, then reached over and mussed Bryant's hair with a grubby hand. His voice smugly contented, he said, "That was half-way decent, son. You'll make someone a fine wife some day." He walked out, chuckling, and Bryant's fists tightened till the strong muscles in his forearm twitched, and his knuckles were white.