Clean Cut

Part Four
Negotiation

The lanky, dark haired boy was clearly trying not to fidget. He sat bolt upright in his chair. His hands were clasped so tightly in his lap that they were making a double fist, knuckles white, but his smile was almost painfully bright. "Yes, that's right. It must be five years now."

The boy sitting at ease on the other side of thsk dsk didn't smile, but his voice was pleasant. "Small world, isn't it? I must say, Marshall, that I didn't expect to see you again after graduation," Now he DID smile, but it wasn't really a friendly expression because it didn't reach his eyes. "except maybe on Monday Night Football. What happened?"

Marshall shrugged, and his shoulders didn't entirely lift again, staying slightly slumped. "Um... well, you know, I did pretty good in the draft--I was fifth." There was a tinge of pride in his tone, but it disappeared as he said, "But I cracked up my car during training camp, and the knee is just never going to be the same."

"That would have been the Ferrari, right? The one you got with the loan arranged by one of the alumni, through the car dealer who was ALSO an alumni? I forgot--HOW low was the interest and downpayment? You know, you must have told me a hundred times, but for the life of me I just can't remember. That's funny, because I remember thinking at the time how absolutely RIDICULOUSly low they were."

"I can't remember," he said uncomfortably.

"Well!" The russet-haired young man said brightly. "Too bad about the accident, but at least you have your business degree to fall back on. Now, you're applying for a mid-level management position with our firm." He picked up a sheet of paper and scanned it, then frowned. "Marshall, your work history doesn't show any experience in this sort of work, especially at this level." He raised an eyebrow, and there was a nasty, teasing edge to his voice, "Getting a little ambitious, aren't we? Are you sure you don't want to apply for a place in our, mmm, support pool?" Marshall's shoulders slumped a bit more, and Trenton's smile widened.

Bryant McAllister, sitting at the top of the bleachers that formed a semi-circle around the stage/floor thought, *They're the best ones so far. Half the others weren't even ready. Boy, I thought that last girl was going to piss her pants when the teacher asked for a copy of their script before they started.*

He watched the scene continue to unfold, taking note of the subtle, but effective, body language the two boys used to convey the feelings of their characters. *I never would have thought that Trent could be so... so... insidious.* He felt a flash of unreasoning distaste. *He almost reminded me of Pri there for a minute. Thing is, with Trent it's acting--with Pri, it's his nature.*

The scene ended with Trent telling Marshall with deceptive gentleness that he 'just wasn't suitable' for the position. Marshall had left the stage, his gate that of a man approaching the gallows, and Trenton had leaned back in his chair with an small smile and an unholy light in his eyes. The applause of the class was enthusiastic, and Bryant joined in wholeheartedly. It was a relief to be able to express his enthusiasm. He didn't even dare clap too hard for his teammates at swim meets, lest Priory think he was 'interested'.

The rest of the scenes were anticlimatic. When class was over Bryant sat in the bleachers, watching as the students clustered around Trenton, congratulating him on his performance. Bryant imagined going down the steps and moving through the group till he was face-to-face with Trenton. He imagined the slight tilt of Trent's head as he looked up, and the way those green eyes would shine, waiting and wishing for his approval. *Dream on, Bryant. Trenton Vittelli sure doesn't need YOUR attention.*

Then Trenton glanced up, and their eyes met. Trenton's smile broadened, and Bryant felt his heart beat just a little faster, because there was unmistakable encouragement in those bright green eyes. *I think he wants to talk to me. Shit, if Pri found out I went out of my way to talk to another guy he'd bat me, but good.* Bryant's eyes narrowed unconsciously. *Fuck it. Pri isn't here.* He stood up, gathering his books, and started down the steps.

Trenton responded to his classmates, but his eyes were fixed on Bryant. He could tell the exact moment when the tall, blonde boy made up his mind--his wide, firm mouth had suddenly tightened and the pucker between his brows had smoothed. He came down the steps and approached the thinning cluster of students gathered around Trenton. He didn't push, but somehow he made his way through the little group till he was right before Trenton. Trent directed his smile at his teammate. "Hey, Bryant. I was hoping you'd be here today."

*You were?* Bryant felt a flush of warmth. "Wouldn't have missed it. You were good, Trent." He flicked a glance at Marshall and added, almost as an afterthought, "You and Marshall. That was fantastic, especially since you only had three days to work on it."

"Yeah. We had to spend most of two evenings thrashing it out, but it worked." Bryant blinked. Trenton had no way of knowing it, but the thought of being able to spench ach a length of time with someone was almost alien to Bryant. "I want to go over to the student union for a coke. Walk with me?" Bryant hesitated. "If you have a class..."

"No." Bryant was thinking quickly. Priory had a freshman history class right now. It should be safe. "No, I'd like that."

They walked over to the student union. Bryant kept up his end of the conversation, but Trent noticed that he kept shooting glances at the Liberal Arts building, as if he expected to see someone waving to him from one of the windows. In the lounge Trenton bought an orange soda, then stepped away from the vending machine to let Bryant get to it. The other young man shrugged, saying, "No change."

"Oh, well." Trent plugged two quarters into the slot. "Pick your poison."

Bryant flushed. "I can't do that, Trent."

Bryant started to reach for the change return switch, but Trenton caught his wrist. Bryant froze at the touch, hoping desperately that he wouldn't start to get hard, as Trenton said, "Nuh-uh. My treat today--you can buy next time."

*Next time? Oh, God, I'd LOVE for there to be a next time.* Quietly he said, "Trent, I can't guarantee I'll be able to pay you back. I'm, uh, financially embarrassed."

*A twenty year old guy, and he might not be able to pay back a four bit loan? And he isn't trying to be a deadbeat, either. He's flushing--he's really embarrassed about this.* "As Clive would say 'Don'eat,eat, pet'. We'll work out some sort of trade."

Bryant felt his mouth go dry. *Well, I could USE that soda now.* "What sort of trade?"

"Pick your drink first. I ain't telling till you're obligated." Bryant's hand hovered over the rootbeer button longingly, then he pushed the diet cola button. "No rootbeer?"

"Too much sugar."

*Whoa, that was flat. It was like he was reciting something, not really expressing a thought.*

Trent started to sit near the vending machine, but Bryant moved toward the back of the room, saying, "It's quieter back here." That suited Trent fine, so he followed Bryant. He noticed that Bryant took a chair behind a pillar, completely screening himself off from the rest of the room. *I'll be damned if I'm not beginning to get the feeling that he's making this some sort of illicit rendezvouz. But hell, it's just a coke in a public place. Who could object to that?*

They both opened their sodas and took deep drinks. Trenton put his can down and said, "Okay, time to pay up." He opened his calculus textbook, flipping the pages. Finally he tapped the page. "This is giving me hell."

Bryant looked at the page. "Limitations. Yeah, that can be a booger, all right. Give me your pencil, and a piece of paper. Okay, look at it this way..."

Trent bent close, watching as Bryant's large hand moved the pencil across the paper, scratching those almost mystical looking symbols. Trenton forced himself to ignore Bryant's clean, musky scent, and the warmth of his body. His skin was very tanned against the white of his shirt. "...see?"

Trenton found himself looking into pale blue eyes. "I'm afraid my attention wandered. Could you explain that again?"

Bryant frowned slightly. He surprised both Trenton and himself by tapping the younger boy on the nose with the pencil. "Pay attention!"

That was the firmest statement he'd ever heard Bryant McAllister make, so it ought to be reinforced. "Yes, sir."

Bryant blinked slowly, the dark lashes so at odds with his white hair flickering. Trenton could see his hand tighten on the pencil. Finally Bryant said gruffly, "You don't have to call me sir. I'm not that much older than you."

Trenton shrugged. "It isn't always age. Often it's attitude." He saw a slight flush rising in Bryant's cheeks, and cocked his head. "That wasn't an insult, Bryant."

Bryant was quiet for a moment. *I think he means that.* Then he said, "Sure. Thanks. Now, pay attention." He went over the information again, then had Trenton explain it as he understood it. *He's bright. He got it almost perfect.* Bryant corrected the slight mistake, and Trenton nodded, studying the paper intently. Bryant was pretty sure that the next time he wouldn't make a mistake.

"Thanks, Bryant. Will you help me again if I get into trouble with this stuff?"

A chance to see Trenton again, one-on-one? A chance to sit close beside him, close enough to feel his body heat, and have him turn those remarkable green eyes up to him? God, he wanted that! But Pri... "Maybe. It depends on my schedule. It's pretty tight."

"Hm." Trenton steepled his fingers under his chin, looking at Bryant in a considering manner. "I can see that I'll have to offer something other than a soda to tempt you." Bryant almost stopped breathing. Being tempted by Trenton Vittelli. What a positively bone melting thought. Finally Trenton said, "I remember seeing you at the library Wednesday, waiting a turn on one of the computers. Did you get on?"

Bryant scowled, rememberthisthis. "No, I had to leave before my turn came up. What's that got to do with anything?"

"I have a friend who has a computer that I can use any time I want, and it has an internet hook-up. If you tutored me over at his place, you could use it."

The idea was stunningly attractive. To be in a private place, to have the freedom of the internet, to be with ton.ton. *There's got to be some way to do it, dammit. There aren't any physical bars, and Priory isn't a rocket scientist. But he's paranoid, and sly. I'd have to be careful.* "I could try to clear some time tomorrow evening, if that would be all right."

"Oh, I won't need any more help till we start the next chapter." Bryant's heart dropped, but Trenton continued, "But if you'd like to just come over and hang around, cruise the net, meet my friend, that'd be cool."

*It would be bad enough if Pri found out I'd lied and gone somewhere to study. If he found out I went to just BE with someone...* "I'd like that. Can I let you know tonight if I can make it?"

"Yeah. Technically I should ask permission from Clive to bring you, eventhough he HAS said I could have friends over. I'll give you the number." He held out his hand for the pencil.

Bryant stared at Trent's hand, feeling that he didn't dare let himself touch the other boy. He put the pencil on the table and pushed it toward Trenton. Trent took it, looking slightly hurt, and Bryant wanted to hit himself. But Trent scratched out the number and handed it to him, saying, "Call when you know."

"It might be a little late." *I'll have to wait for Pri to go to sleep.*

Trenton bit his lip. "Welll... I'll warn Clive. I don't think he'll mind for this, but I gotta warn you--he CAN be a bear when he's awakened unexpectedly."

~~~~~~~~~~

Bryant finished wiping the last plate and put it away. They had a drain rack, but he wasn't allowed to leave the dishes in it for any appreciable length of time. For once he didn't mind--it had given him time to consiwhatwhat would be the best approach to take. Tomorrow night was Pri's poker night--that would help a lot. He never got in before two or three am, even if he was losing.

Bryant thought he had finally come up with a plot that would give him an excuse to be out of the house, so that Priory wouldn't call to check on him. It would give him an alibi for several hours, and by then Priory would be too deep in whiskey and cards to bother checking in. Priory was nothing if not predictable, and for once Bryant was grateful for this.

Priory was watching a football game on telivision when Bryant went to the living room. He sat beside the older man, not touching and not speaking till a commercial came on. Finally he said, "Sir?"

Priory didn't take his eyes off the screen. "That talking chihuahua is a fucking hoot, you know that? How do they get his mouth to move like that?"

"Either peanutbutter or computer generated graphics." The moment he said it he wished he hadn't.

Now Priory DID look at him. He sneered. "Well, aren't YOU just the little know-it-all."

"I just read an article about it in a magazine. Sir, I want to ask permission to go to the movies tomorrow."

Priory scowled. "What kind of Hollywood bullshit do you want to muck your mind up with NOW, boy? And you know that it's a weeknight."

"This isn't just for entertainment, sir. They're showing different movies portraying the Civil War ae Ste Starlight Cinema tomorrow evening--Intolerance, Gone With the Wind, and Glory. Our history teacher will give us bonus points for attending."

"How does she know you won't just SAY you went?"

"I have to turn in the ticket stub to prove I was there." Priory was nodding. *Yeah, that's just the sort of thing YOU'D think of, isn't it?*

"Do you NEED these points?"

"I've got a B+ in that class," he lied. "This should kick me up to an A, and it's always good to keep my scholarship on firm ground."

The game came back on. "I'll think about it. I'll let you know at half-time."

Bryant endured the next quarter. He hated football. Somehow it just seemed like a hell of a lot of energy and power was being expended in an arbitrary manner. *If they harnessed that, we'd probably come up with a cure for cancer.*

Finally the commentator assured them that they'd be back with the half-time show right after these important messages from their sponsors, and Priory turned to Bryant. "You really want to go to that show?"

Bryant got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. *Oh, God, not again.* But he nodded. Priory cocked his head and gave him that nasty, slok. ok. Bryant knew that Lowell thought that it made him look wicked and dangerous. There had been a time when it had inspired a tingle of dread, but long ago that tingle had turned to simple distaste. It made him look like the patriarch of a family of inbred throwbacks.

"How bad do you want it, boy?"

Bryant forced the words out. "Very badly, sir."

"How much is that shindig going to cost?" Bryant quoted the student admission price. "Mm. Then there's bus fare back and forth, 'cause I'm sure as shit not going to drive you or pick you up. And I suppose you'll want to get some kind of crap at the concession stand."

"I don't need it, sir."

"Damn straight you don't, but WANT it, don't you?"

By now Bryant knew what Priory wanted to hear. He gritted his teeth for a second, then said, "Yes, sir."

"Thought so." He snorted. "You're still such a ch Bry Bryant. I bet you want soda, popcorn, AND candy, and that'll cost a ton." His voice dropped to an oily purr. "How you gonna pay me back, son?"

That was his cue. Bryant dropped his eyes and said, as humbly as he could, "However you say, sir." *Think about an entire evening of freedom, Bryant. Think about being with someone who doesn't treat you like a bitch. Who knows when I'll get this chance again?*

"Tell you what, boy." He heard Priory unbuckle his belt and lower his zipper. "That half-time show is going to last for another fifteen minutes. If you can keep me hard for that long, without coming, then I'll give you a twenty, and you can go to your little movies with your little friends."

*Oh, Jesus.* He'd done this sort of thing before, but not often. It was a bitch. If he managed it his neck jaw jaw were going to be so stiff that he'd have a headache approaching migrane levels, but he wanted this chance.

Bryant wanted to close his eyes as Priory untied the band he'd been using to hold back his hair, then sank his fingers deep into the thick mass, but he couldn't. He needed to be able to see until he got the range right. If he missed with the first lick he'd get a slap across the back of the head.

Priory tugged Bryant's head down roughly. It had been ages since Bryant had shown even token reluctance, but Priory's technique never got any gentler. Bryant wasn't unacquainted with cocks, at least not visually. Hell, he was an athlete- cou couldn't hang around a locker room without seeing a good number of three-piece sets. Then there were the videos. Priory had started off showing him the videos, hoping to entice the increasingly horny boy into offering sex. Finally he'd gotten tired of waiting and just flatly told Bryant that he was 'OWED, goddammit'. But visuals were as far as it went. He'd never touched another dick, other than his own and Priory's.

Now he was confronted with that same prick again. Bryant tried to remember if he'd EVER found that stumpy tube of flesh desireable. *No,* he decided. *Never. I've never felt anything toward it but a certain amount of curiosity in the beginning. Now that I'm familiar with it... What's that old saying about familiarity breeding contempt?*

He heard the first brassy notes of the marching band as he put out his tongue and made the first swipe over Priory's cockhead. Priory groaned. *Shit! I'm going to have to hold him tight as a cockring to keep him from shooting.* Bryant knew exactly how to bring Priory to climax quickly, and that was what he usually did. The less time he spent on these sort of chores, the better, but this was different.

Bryant licked Priory's dick, base to tip, till he was almost fully aroused, and clear pre-ejaculate was oozing down his glans, dribbling over the thick wrinkle of skin at it's base. Priory was the only man he'd ever known who seemed to be halfway between circumsized and natural. He never dared to ask, but he figured that Mrs. Lowell's obstetrician hadn't been very thorough when he cut the hood, and his parents were either too ignorant or too cheap to have things fixed. Consequently Priory had hygiene issues. Luckily he'd taken a shower earlier. He didn't, always. Bryant had learned not to puke after the first time he was thrown against the wall. Gagging was allowed--Priory kind of liked it when he gagged. It made him feel big. Puking wasn't allowed, though.

Pri was whispering to him. "You like that, don't you, boy? Sure, you do. You'd rather suck cock than eat. Aren't you lucky that I can give you all you need?"

Now that the pre-come had started he could begin sucking. Bryant circled the base of Priory's cock, his thumbs resting on the older man's balls, ready to tighten his grips if he felt any change that might herald approaching orgasm.

Bryant worked very, very slowly. Every dozen or so strokes he'd pause, holding Pri in his throat for a few seconds. He was carefull not to swallow, or make any noise, so that the vibrations wouldn't stimulate him any further. He heard the commentator introducing the second band. *Half done. I probably shouldn't be praying for skill at cocksucking, but please, God, you understand. Just let me hold him off long enough. Please.*

Priory was trying to thrust up into his mouth. Bryant risked angering him by leaning his weight on the older man's thighs. It might anger him, but if he allowed Pri to fuck his mouth he'd never hold his orgasm off as long as he needed to.

That damn band. Were they ever going to stop? Song after song, all melding together into bright noise. He thought he recognized snatches from songs that had passed from popularity into the nebulous land of elevator muzac and commercial jingles, but he really couldn't concentrate on that. Finally he heard the disembodied voice from the televison saying, "And there they go. As the band leaves the field, we'll pause for just another few ads, then right back to this exciting game.

Feeling a huge sense of relief, Bryant opened his hands and plunged down, taking Priory as deeply as he could, swallowing hard. Priory was coming in less than two seconds. As Bryant gulped the bitter fluid he thought, *He's always so proud about being in control, and I can make him come anytime I want.* For a moment an alien idea hovered at the edge of his mind, but he was distracted by Priory trying to force him down even farther. *You stupid fuck! You don't HAVE anything left for me to swallow.*

When the last trickle stopped, Bryant pulled off. He finished his chore by licking Priory's limp, sticky dick clean, then went and got a washrag for the final cleaning. When he was done Pri put himself away, zipping up, saying, "Well, you're getting even better, boy. I really didn't think you'd manage it, but I keep my promises." He got out his wallet. Removing a twenty, he threw it in Bryant's lap. "There ya go. I'm not as proud as some men--I don't mind paying a good whore. Now, get me another beer, then go to bed." As Bryant reached the kitchen door he added, "And brush your teeth." He snickered. "Don't wanna walk around with come breath."

The sofa's back was to the kitchen door. Priory didn't see the frozen look that came over Bryant's face. His lips, swollen from the the marathon abuse, tightened into a hard line, and his eyes glittered. He stalked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the refridgerator, setting it on the counter as he searched the drawer for a church key. He noticed that his hand was trembling.

Bryant looked at the crumpled twenty that he'd laid on the counter. Suddenly he spat on it, snatched it up, and wadded it into a ball. He held it over the garbage disposal, his hand on the switch, then paused. He got a paper towel, carefully smoothed out the bill, and wiped it dry. Then he stuffed it into his pocket, flipped the top off the beer, and walked into the living room.

When he heard Bryant's footsteps approaching Priory reached back over his shoulder expectantly, eyes still rivited on the screen. Bryant paused, staring at him. "Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?"

Bryant looked at him coldly, then spat quietly in the bottle and handed it to Priory. He waited as Pri took a deep swig, the older man sighing in voluptuos enjoyment.

Priory hadn't heard Bryant leave. He hooked his arm back over the sofa, half turning to frown at the boy. "What?" He held out the bottle, saying sarcastically, "Want a taste?" He was looking forward to telling Bryant he couldn't have any, but the boy surprised him.

Bryant gave him a small, cool smile, said, "Pass," and went back to his room.