“You should go for it, baby. You’re the most driven person I know.”
Cliff wanted to hold onto the hope and support blazing in Brennan’s eyes. “There aren’t any gay players in the NBA.”
“I thought there was one.”
“One. Years ago. Who came out when his career was over, not when it was beginning.”
“You can be a trailblazer.”
Cliff cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t want to move to Portland.”
“Huh?”
He shook his head. Wrong crowd. Cliff didn’twantto be a trailblazer. He just wanted to play. But he also didn’t want to stop what he and Brennan were doing.
“I like being with you, Brennan. We have a good thing going. It’s fun. I don’t want to ruin that.”
Brennan nodded that he agreed, but his eyes lost a little glimmer for a moment. “Like I said, I’m not here to pressure you. I’m here to support you. And wreck your body.”
That sly smile was back. All this talking and not touching was unexpected foreplay. Brennan’s face flushed with hunger, and Cliff was ready to be devoured. Their mouths collided in a passionate tangle. Cliff wanted to be his nasty play thing but also his beautiful muse. All thoughts of how wrong this was were silenced by the power of Brennan’s hot breath in his mouth, of his calloused hands cradling his neck, of his warm cock pressing into his thigh. Everything felt right and perfect, as if his heart cracked a code hiding in plain sight.
“You’re so beautiful, Cliff,” Brennan breathed out between kisses.
“Brennan,” was the only response he could get out, his voice choked by passion.
Brennan reached between them and grabbed both their cocks in his hand. His thumb slid over Cliff’s slick head, spreading the precum to both of them.
“Put your hands over your head. Grab the headboard.”
Cliff complied. The cold metal stung his sweaty palm. Brennan clamped a free hand over his wrists. His arm stretched out above him, commanding him in place.
Brennan rested his forehead against Cliff’s between kisses. He let out a lustful groan and bit down on Cliff’s lower lip as he came in hot streaks, his release adding more lubricant to jerk off Cliff.
Their hot, throbbing dicks slid side-by-side. Cliff breathed hard against Brennan’s lips as he soaked their stomachs.
As they came down from their high, Brennan pecked Cliff on the lips and rolled off of him. It was a quick kiss, but there was something intimate about the action that Cliff couldn’t put into words.
“Do you do that with all your subjects?” Cliff asked.
“Where do you think all the bananas went in my fruit bowl?” Brennan reached onto the floor and grabbed his shirt to wipe them off. Cliff realized he didn’t need to steal any more articles of his clothing. He could have the real thing whenever he wanted.
18
BRENNAN
That afternoon, the art studio was bustling with verve, energy, and the gnawing anxiety of deadlines. Midterm projects were due by the end of the week. Every space in the studio was taken; the sounds of pencils and paintbrushes and claywheels moving punctuated the quiet, as well the sighs and expletives coming from the artists themselves.
Brennan hot glued fragments of a desk-size David replica onto the canvas, rearranged into a sleeping position offset by bold strokes of gray and blue. He’d seen the sculpture in the window of a thrift store last week, thought of Cliff, and immediately had an idea for his next piece.
Time didn’t exist in the art studio. Only the state of flow. But at some point, Rachel declared she was getting food at the student union. And that suddenly flicked on the hunger switch in Brennan’s stomach. Same with everyone else.
The studio cleared out, and the group made its way through paths lined by ivy-encrusted buildings and half-naked trees to the union. They pushed together three tables in the corner of the food court. Brennan got two slices of pizza. They sizzled on his plate; he wanted to stand in place and eat them right there. But, no. He had manners.
He took a seat at the long, banquet-style table they had jury-rigged next to Rachel, who held court at the end. She liked to say she was like the group mom, but really, she was the de facto leader. Maybe it was telling that the last seat open was the one next to her.
Hunger took over the table, and for the next few minutes, the art students of Browerton succumbed to a state of flow with their food. Brennan devoured his first slice of pizza and contemplated whether he’d need to get a third when Rachel looked up from her lunch.
“Who’s your new boyfriend?”
