Chapter Eleven

Oops! We did it.

SAARANSH

 

“Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

My jaw drops at Mr. Parthasarathy’s words. He may shout at me for going out, but who gave him the right to vent his anger on Brendon?

“Sir, please.” I step between the two. Brendon rests his hand on my shoulder. I lean in, drawing strength to steady my shaky legs due to this confrontation with my coach. The more significant battle is happening inside my head, my two realities locked in a face-off. Ele says stand firm. Gillu is ready to cave in.

Mr. Parthasarathy is shocked. We never lock swords on any matter. This version of me surprises me. Where is this boldness coming from? Brendon? Mr. Parthasarathy’s eyes move between my face and Brendon’s hand. He relents but warns us.

“I do not allow him to go out of the Olympic Village. Stay away from Saaransh till the final is over.”

“Yes, sir, we will spend some time here, and I will drop him at the village. I hope that’s acceptable.” Brendon’s voice is like a schoolboy answering his headmaster.

I add my assurance. “Next match is the big one. I won’t let my country down.” Mr Parthasarathy studies me for a while before relenting. After the silent warning, Mr. Parthasarathy walks off.

Brendon takes both my hands in his and draws imaginary circles on my palms with his thumb. “You were amazing. I am hooked. Where do I sign up to be a super fan?”

His eyes shine—two orbs of clear blue skies roaming all over my body, almost feral. I am the bird of prey fluttering across. His thumbs are choreographing tiny ballet dancers, tiptoeing on my skin. The sight of this hunk and the high of winning the semi-final raises a tsunami inside me. I am not ready to wear a rainbow cape and announce myself to the world, but I have the right place to help both of us. “Are you going to stand there and flutter your eyes at me?” I tease him.

Brendon scrunches his eyebrows. “Tempting me, eh. There is only so much I can resist.”

I scan the area to check if anyone is around. The alley is clear. I smack Brendon on his butt. “Follow me. I know a place where you can show me what your temptation can do for me.”

His cheek-stretching grin curves his lips into a crescent moon, enticing me to hang on them. Holding his hand, I drag him to the players’ section. The empty room confirms my assumption is right. Not a human in sight. The volunteers and officials have left. A lone janitor is cleaning the locker room. I push Brendon toward the men’s restroom and lock the door after checking no one is inside.

“Are we in high school again?” Brendon turns and pins me, face to the wall, his burly body pressed against mine. His body heat envelops me. My heart thumps hard, pumped with the excitement of possibilities.

“Why do you keep a banana in your pocket?” I shove my ass toward his hips.

“You hungry for a banana, Shy?” Brendon flips me. His breaths tickle my forehead. He licks his lips, his tongue following the path my finger traces on them. Brendon opens his mouth and swallows my finger.

My other hand goes for his crotch, squeezing hard. “I only eat the thick ones.” I bend to drop on my knees, but Brendon stops me. “You sure?”

How can I resist this? The tenderness. The constant checking in on my comfort. For once, Gillu agrees with Ele. They both want this. “Shh, I need my energy drink.” I press my lips to his and hold them there—only a gentle touch.

“What’s with you? Banana, smoothie, cocks, and balls,” Brendon mumbles. The vibrations carry to my face through our connected lips.

“Let me show you what’s with me.” I rub my hand over his hardness.

“Mmhh,” Brendon moans as I squeeze his cock. Music to my ears.

He shoves me to my knees. “Stop talking trash and put your mouth to some good use.” He moves his T-shirt up.

“Tsk-tsk, someone is impatient. An expert chef needs time.” With my finger, I trace a wave above his waistband.

He grabs my hand, stopping the shiver my fingers sense on his body. “Last I heard, you were new to this.”

“What can I say? I am a student of an accomplished head chef.” A trail of wetness left by my tongue on his tight abs leads to more moans.

“Is it? Why don’t you show me how talented this sous chef is?”

When I glance up, I see the challenge in his eyes. I press my lips below his navel and move my tongue from left to right. With my lust taking over, I only need three simple steps to my paradise. Step one, pull the button and send it scampering away, rattling against the tiled floor. Step two, hold the slider between my teeth and zip it down. Now to the fun step three, tug and unwrap the treasured hump hidden behind the fabric layers.

Damn these shorts. Shorts that hug his thick ass cheeks and thighs. Shorts that have been tempting me since I saw him waving at me in the match. I pull them down along with the black briefs to his ankles. Dozens of cloud-shaped bubbles pop up in my head. It’s your first time. He is big; how will you manage? Don’t choke to death. What if you can’t please him? Ele fights off the doubt infestation. He flushes them all away with a big whoosh from his trunk. Meet the lecherous me.

“Off.” I tug Brendon’s T-shirt. I need my fix of this hulk. Brendon fumbles to remove the grey Henley. Naked, he is a sight to behold. I admire the hard banana, which is the object of my fantasies for the past few days, ready to devour it. I pin his wrists to the wall and kiss the thick hard rod dangling between his legs.

“Mmm.” Brendon takes a sharp breath.

“Mmm.” A rub with my nose to his crotch elicits a softer moan. The musky odor is addicting. A few more nudges produce a whole symphony from Brendon’s mouth. The tempo increases with my licking.

“More,” Brendon groans.

“Hush.” I pull his hands away and hold them against the wall. “Teach me.”

He grips my hair and steadies my head. “Use your lips.”

I raise my eyes to observe Brendon as my lips engulf his crown and swallow his girth. The view from down here is erotic. His sharp nose peers through the strong jawline. His nostrils flare. Below them are two huge mounds of chest muscles followed by a ravine in the middle of the abdomen, surrounded on both sides by smaller mounds of muscle. My fingers dance from the top of the ravine to the point where my mouth is.

Brendon catches the subtle tightening of my grip when I am about to gag and pulls out. He bends down and kisses my bare head, giving me a chance to steady my breaths. He rubs his palm over the smooth shaved head. “Are you okay?” Brendon is patient, but I am hungry for more; I roll my tongue and devour his girth in one go. Brendon shivers. He takes control, pounding my mouth. Soon, his moans become erratic.

“Hold,” he pants. I still my head, allowing him to do the work. Brendon’s movements become fast and thrust stronger. “Shy, I am…” He tries to pull out; I hold on tight to his thighs. With a few more thrusts, he releases in my mouth. I swallow every bit of the salty cum and lick him clean. Brendon pulls me up, holds my head in his hands, and stares into my eyes. His gaze touches deep into my soul. I am in terrible trouble.

Brendon caresses my lips before kissing me. After he has his fill, he shifts his head and smirks “Enjoyed today’s special?”

*

BRENDON

 

“Umm, Blue, did I do well?” Saaransh frames a full sentence as he dresses, still not making eye contact. The garbled mess when I returned the blowjob had settled into an uneasy silence as Saaransh withdrew into his shell. My heart sank at the possibility of an encore. Would Saaransh bolt again? His words wash over the anxious dance we were performing around our clothes.

“You were, absolutely fucking fantastic.” Saaransh preens at my answer to his question. The man is a competitive bugger or carrying the burden of a complex. “A champion on and off the court.” I straighten his collar. Saaransh jumps and hugs me. “Hey, I don’t mind carrying you wrapped around me, but we should move out.”

Saaransh drops down and pouts. “Spoilsport.” I lunge to swat his arse. He squeals and rushes to the door, peeping through the slit to check. “The coast is clear.” He picks his kit and leads us out of the locker area. We giggle as we find our way. I hold his waist while we tiptoe out of the players’ section, making sure to avoid people. My fingers dig into him. Saaransh squirms and swats my hand.

“Oh, I found a new switch.” I tickle him around his waist. He wriggles away. This time turning to glare at me.

“Behave, Blue. Or else.” Saaransh wags a warning finger at me.

“Or else.” I challenge him with a smirk and lunge at him, wiggling my fingers. He squeals and quickens his pace to distance himself. Two firm arse cheeks in white shorts bob in a rhythm. The temptation to tickle him is strong, but we are now out in the open. I join him as we leave the arena, a spring in my steps. The highest horny level unlocked—blowjobs with an Olympic champion in an Olympic stadium.

Never had so much fun. I am dying to take Saaransh to my place and do all sorts of things to his body, but a promise is a promise—no point in getting Saaransh into trouble with the authorities. I decide on a plan. Once the finals are over, I am stealing Saaransh.

We take a cab to the Olympic Village from the Wembley Arena. The Tube would be faster, but I can’t risk being spotted by paparazzi, as Saaransh is in Indian colors, and I want to keep touching him. A cab affords us more privacy. I give him a peck on his cheek when we get in but refrain from going further when I see his anxious face.

Once the cab moves, he rests his head on my shoulder. My hand finds its favorite position on his thigh. The warmth of his skin against my palm is enough to satisfy my heart for now. Through the ride, I rub my thumb on his leg. Saaransh turns his head toward me. His beatific face makes my heart go mushy, and the things between my legs become tight. I should put a reminder on my phone never to wear any shorts when I am meeting him. I meant I should wear jeans, which do a better job.

“Something funny?” Saaransh pokes his thumb in my ribs.

A kiss to his forehead wipes the smirk from Saaransh’s face. He bats his eyelids and tilts his head, acting coy. He laces his arm around mine and cuddles, legs tucked under his thighs. His body heat wraps a sense of calmness in my heart like the warmth of the sun on a cold winter morn. Tucked to my side, he falls asleep. I watch him, resting my head on his. The tendrils of affection binding me to him. How do I let go of a man ready to die for me? In forty-five minutes, we arrive at the Olympic Park. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

“No, let me sleep.” Saaransh snuggles closer and moves his hand around my chest and squeezes. Damn, he is so adorable.

“Hmm, I approve of what you are doing, but we need to get out of the cab.”

Saaransh scoots up straight and tidies himself at my words. I pay for the ride and help Saaransh gather his playing kit. Saaransh helps me enter the Olympic Park with a visitor pass. We walk to his apartment block. He avoids holding my hand but doesn’t mind our shoulders brushing once in a while.

Saaransh breaks the silence. “Blue, can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm, sure. What’s on your mind?”

“How did you learn to fight? I mean, rugby is rough, but do they teach you self-defense?”

“Poofta.”

“What?” Saaransh is perplexed.

“It’s a slur hurled at gay people in Australia. Common in schools and colleges. Means weak.” Saaransh is still flummoxed, so I elaborate. “If you do not conform to the norm, the abuse starts with a few slurs hurled around in middle school. With no one to stop them, the verbal vitriol morphs into bullying in high school.”

Saaransh’s eyebrows furrow. “Did anyone hurt you at school?”

“No. Bullies don’t mess with a big strong lad playing rough on the rugby grounds. They stayed away, and so did I, but my conscience took a hammering every time I walked away when other queer kids were abused. Crippled by my insecurity of losing a chance at rugby, I channelized the anger into the game. Often got into fights on the pitch, but never off it.”

“Was coming out as a rugby player tough?”

Ah yes, the fear of what coming out would mean in the locker room. I understand where Saaransh’s questions are coming from. “Yeah, rugby has this whole macho, rugged masculinity woven in its fabric. Whereas being gay has this stigma of weakness attached to it. I lived a second life, hiding my sexuality. Many times, the frustration pushed me to the edge. But in college, I developed an interest in boxing.” The punching bag took the steam off but never the fear of being found out. “I embraced aggression to disprove the world. A way of fighting labels in rugby.”

“How did the ‘whole gay player’ thing affect your professional career?” Saaransh uses his fingers for air quotes.

“The first game after I came out turned into a nightmare. The rival players tried to intimidate me using slurs and abuse at every contact. Some of my teammates sniggered but most stood by me. The match ended in fistfights.”

“Sick. How did you overcome prejudice?”

“Simple. For the first few games after coming out, I used their hatred to add the extra zing in my rough tackles. Worked harder than others to keep my game on point. The points silenced the crowd. They accepted me for what I was, first and foremost—a sportsperson. A rugby player. One of them.”

“And boxing? Did you punch any opponent?” Saaransh scrunches his nose.

“Never. Boxing helped me channel my frustration. The punching bag came in handy to wipe away the temptation to hit the trolls.”

“And the effort shows on your body.” Saaransh’s eyes do a quick sweep from head to toe.

“Yeah.” I flex to pop my chest. “This is a symbol of toughness and grit.” An announcement to the world: don’t mess with me.

“Or you sculpted the David of Melbourne for people to drool over.” Saaransh winks.

“Is it?”

Saaransh squeals and runs, dropping his kit before I can grab him. I pick up his bags and scamper to follow him. We exchange friendly banter for the rest of the walk. Saaransh goes quiet and shoves his hands in his pockets at the entrance of his apartment block.

“Will I see you at the finals?”

“Yup, I am not missing you win the Olympic Gold.”

Saaransh’s eyes moisten at my words. He rushes over and hugs me. “Thank you, Blue.”

I sniff the mix of the lemon-musk fragrance and lock the aroma into my memory. A hug is all I will get out here in the open. I should resent this. Not able to kiss Saaransh or even hold hands. Five long years of being proud, and yet here I am. Sheesh. What am I doing pining for a guy deep in the closet? But I can have this—a few happy memories to tide over a few days in my life. This fling should work well for me. Haven’t I sworn off boyfriends?

Even if only a few more days, I will give Saaransh moments to hold in his struggle to come out. The hug will have to do until our meeting in two days. The forty-odd hours’ wait will be a struggle. A wild idea comes up. “Shy, can we go out someplace tomorrow?”

He bites his lip struggling with his answer. “What will Mr. Parthasarathy say?”

“Hmm. What if we go out with my rugby mates, Eddy and James? The company will keep us from getting into trouble.”

“What if they?”

I understand the concern in his unfinished question. “They won’t. James and Eddy are my best friends. They understand.”

Saaransh wrings his neck and rubs his shoulder, debating what to do. I brace for a no and the accompanying disappointment, but Saaransh surprises me. “Yes, let’s do it. Send me the address.”

“I will pick you up.”

“No. We can’t let my coach know.”

“How will we meet?”

“I am adept at getting out.” Saaransh winks. “Text me the details. I am free tomorrow night.”

We shake hands and bid goodbye. Still caught in an emotional web, I go check on Sarah. She is at the swimming pool at the Olympic Park for training. Where else would she be? I swear she is a mermaid from an alternate universe. She spends fifty percent of her waking hours in the pool. Sarah sees me and waves me to sit on the benches. I wait for her to finish and dry up.

“What are you grinning about?” Sarah stands in front of me with her hands on her hips. She wraps her favorite yellow sarong around her waist. “How did you get in?”

I stand and hug her. “I have connections. You are not the only Olympic athlete I know.” She scowls. “Hey, can’t a brother visit his sister?”

“He can, but he never does. Now tell me what brought you here and why are you so happy?”

“Why are you so jealous?” I sit on the bench and pat it, asking Sarah to sit down.

She props herself and glares at me. “You are not here for me, so spill.”

I stay mum. Sarah pokes me in the arm. “Oww.” I fake my pain and scoot away from her. Sarah stares. “I went to the Wembley Arena to watch the badminton semi-final between Saaransh and the Danish player. Saaransh is in with a chance for Gold. Had a ripper of a time. Boy, you should have seen the shots he played. I have never seen so much flexibility, stamina, and grit.” I ramble on about the game till Sarah interrupts me.

“Bree, is this only about the game, or is there more going on between you two?”

I scratch the scruff on my jawline. “We had a romp on the side.” I avoid her eyes.

“What is happening with you?” Sarah circles my face with a finger.

“It’s nothing.” I turn away and focus on the swimmers.

Sarah turns my face. “Out with it. What is going on?” She pokes my head.

“Ouch, stop hurting me.” I poke her shoulder.

Sarah warns me. “Brendon, stop deflecting. Your eyes have sparkling hearts when you talk about him.”

“We are friends spending time together.”

She calls me out on my lie. “Are you sure?”

“Argh, I fancy him,” I admit. “Don’t know what is building between us, but I am unable to resist him.”

“You have fallen hard for him.” Her eyes search mine.

I turn my eyes to the pool, eyeing her on the sly. “No, I have not.”

Sarah smirks. I place my hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I know you care, but don’t judge Saaransh. He is going through a difficult phase of discovering himself.”

Sarah bites her lip. She sighs. “Brendon, I am not judging Saaransh, but he is still in the closet.” She squeezes my hand holding her shoulder. “Your worlds are poles apart. He leaves in a few days after the Olympics. What happens if he does not come out to the world?”

She has me here. I sigh. “You can be a real dampener sometimes. I am seeing a new man and exploring. We made a connection at our first meeting. Let me enjoy the company.”

“Well, hope you won’t regret it. Your happiness and safety are important, Bree. We all worry about you.”

I take her hand and plant a kiss. “Let’s go grab dinner.”

“Bree, don’t let your guard down yet. Remember the dating rules.”

“Yeah.” Do I need a reminder? Rule one is no going out more than thrice with the same man. Sex only as an anonymous one-night stand. Saaransh and I crossed those lines today, but some reaffirmation will comfort Sarah. “Well, consider this. A few more days and Saaransh and I will be across an ocean.”

“Fuff.” Sarah dismisses my words with a frown.

“Okay, Mom.” Sarah is right. I may enjoy Saaransh’s company while he is in London, but those walls need to be bolstered. Can I? The foundations are shaking.