Travis wove a haphazard path down the sidewalk. Swaying, he grabbed Dylan for support. They tumbled together from the cement to the grass, their tangled limbs awash in the light cast by the streetlamp. Dylan's baggy carpenter shorts rode up his thick thighs where they wrapped around Travis's denim-clad legs.
Dylan laughed, speech slurred. "Dude, thought you were gonna hold me up."
Travis joined in his friend's drunken mirth. "Thought you were doing the same."
This statement incited a round of gut-belting chuckles. Sides hurting, Travis attempted to catch his breath. He drew in short, shallow gasps of the balmy night air, the warmth and humidity of summer arrived a few weeks before solstice. He had barely recovered when Dylan plied his mouth with a kiss.
Travis indulged a moment in the warm, wet glide of the tongue probing his mouth, tasting vodka and cherry before he broke away. "Told you we can't do that anymore. It's not fair to your girlfriend."
Dylan snorted. "You give head better than she does." He dived in for another kiss.
His mouth rounding in protest, Travis found himself meeting and matching his friend's ardor instead. Their tongues slipped and slid together, sending a thrill of current through Travis's limbs in spite of the numbness brought on by intoxication. The sensation settled in the vicinity of his groin.
His cock going stiff, Travis groaned. He gripped Dylan's shirt, then felt his own shirt being skimmed up his ribs, followed by the graze of thumbs rolling across each of his nipples. Equally shocked and aroused, Travis came to his senses and pulled away.
"Not out here," he hissed, tugging his shirt back down. "What if someone sees, and it gets back to Coach?" He swept a furtive glance around the lot, ensuring no one had witnessed the kiss. To his relief, the campus grounds lay empty at the postmidnight hour, his fellow students either studying, sleeping, or partying. Not even one of those damned gray squirrels in sight...
"Fine," Dylan said. "Let's get back to our room." He teased with a flick of the tongue behind Travis's earlobe. A persistent hand rubbed against Travis's crotch.
Growing harder, his tight jeans leaving little to the imagination, Travis stifled a moan of frustrated arousal. Dylan was hot, no doubt about it; he was also drunk, straight, and dating a girl. On top of that, Travis shared a dorm room with him, and they played on the lacrosse team together. All reasons they shouldn't fall into bed with each other yet again, but it was difficult to ignore the hard-on straining through Travis's jeans or the hand that deftly palmed it.
He managed to extricate himself from his friend's amorous embrace and got them both back to their feet. They stumbled down the sidewalk, arm in arm, two drunk bros escorting one another back to the dorm from all appearances.
Travis knew there was more to the picture. They were on the way back to their room for a sloppy blowjob or two before Dylan passed out and then woke the next morning as a decided heterosexual with a hangover.
As they took their usual shortcut through Greek Row, Dylan jerked away from Travis. Hand over mouth, he rushed toward a row of bushes that lined one of the more modest houses.
Travis cringed at the familiar splattering sound. As Dylan heaved and retched, Travis caught up to him. In an attempt to offer a comforting pat on the back, Travis missed his target, lost his balance, and nearly tumbled into the bushes. Righting himself, he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he should have stopped at one or two drinks, but with only a few weeks left of his junior year, a campus kegger blowout in between exams had been in due order.
Dylan lifted his head but remained crouched, hands on his knees, face pale and clammy. "Shouldn't've had that last Jell-O shot."
"Pussy," Travis said. "You're brushing your teeth before you do anything else to me." He looked up at the house. He laughed. "Look whose bushes you just christened."
Dylan stood straight, legs wobbly, and squinted at the Greek initials that adorned the porch gable. The color returned to his face, clouding it with anger.
"Omega Beta Pi," he read in whiny mock singsong. "Off the Beaten Path. Fuckers. Damned tree huggers can beat off my path and suck my dick." He cupped his crotch and gave a lewd thrust toward the house. With a snide laugh, he looked over his shoulder at Travis. "Correction. You can suck my dick. They can just kiss my meat-burning, carbon-eating ass. Wait, that doesn't sound right..."
Travis laughed. "You eat meat and burn carbon, you drunk idiot."
"Look who's talking." Dylan looked back toward the house, his mouth spreading into a devious grin. He reached inside one pocket of his shorts and produced a can of spray paint. He shook it clumsily. "Been savin' this just for you, assholes."
Travis dimly felt his common sense kick in, lending him the sort of hazy clarity that only inebriation could give. "I thought you were joking."
"I'm sick of these fuckers."
After three unsuccessful attempts, Dylan popped the can open. Travis stood by, spearing both hands through his hair. Hands on his head, he looked around nervously to make sure no one bore witness to the deed his friend was determined to commit. "Seriously, man. Don't."
Dylan sprayed a slapdash but legible F across the bricks. Next came an A. Realization sank in at the beginnings of a G.
Travis lurched forward and gripped Dylan by the wrist. "Stop it."
"Why? It's true."
Anger knotted Travis's gut. "Is that what you think I am? Or is it only okay when we're drunk?"
"Huh? No, man. You're different."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You don't act like a fa--"
Dylan froze at the blip of a siren. Travis froze with him, blinded by the spotlight that suddenly flooded the lawn. Dylan dropped the spray paint and bolted. On instinct, Travis started to run the other way and promptly slammed into a warm body.
In the spotlight, Travis found himself staring at a bare, smooth expanse of chest framed by wiry, sculpted biceps covered with a light dusting of freckles. Stepping back, Travis focused on a firm, lean body clad only in sweatpants that hung loosely off the hips. A faint treasure line trailed down the center of the well-defined V that tapered from a perfectly flat set of abs.
Before Travis could take another step back, strong hands gripped his wrists and held him in place. Dazed, he looked up into a pale, freckled face and met his captor's piercing gaze. He took in blue eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and pillowed lips, the handsome features framed by tousled waves of blond hair.
Travis blurted the first thought that came to mind. "You're hot."
He peered back over his shoulder, alerted by the sound of pounding footsteps and heavy breathing. At the campus cop barreling across the lawn, the next thing Travis said was, "Oh shit."
Twisting away from his captor, Travis raised his hands in placation, ready to state his case.
He opened his mouth to speak and vomited on the cop's shoes.
)
College athlete Travis doesn't hide his sexuality, but he won't be defined by it either. When a mishap forces him into a wilderness vacation with campus gay rights activists, sparks fly with his tentmate, Kyle, who thinks he's selfish, shallow...and hot. [Publisher's Note: Contains anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual practices.]
