Complete Opposites

Hearing him say that makes my eyes sting and mist up.

He returns his eyes to the road. "They expected you to just willingly get drunk?"

"They had a Plan B if I wasn't going to cooperate. They showed me some syringes they had and strongly implied that I would prefer to be drunk than high on whatever shit they were prepared to shoot me up with."

"Oh my god! They would have drugged you? Fuck!"

"But they didn't get the chance to. You saved my life."

He scoffs.

"No, really. If I wouldn't have willingly gotten drunk, who knows what shit was in their needles. They could have overdosed me. I'm serious."

He pulls up to the doors of the fitness center. The game starts in twenty minutes.

I say, "I can't just leave you here."

"Yes, you can. I'm fine. The school, your dad, everybody needs to know that you're safe and that you're gonna beat the shit out of that team."

"You need to go to the medical office. You need to get checked out."

"I'll think about it. Now get to your game. You're way late!"

I give him another quick hug, "Where did you learn how to fight like that?"

"That's a story for another time. Go!"

So I go.

And I win.

The game ends and for the second time today, I take a shower in the locker room, but this time, I am not alone. My teammates surround me and I do not get abducted upon exiting the facility. There's about an hour before the Homecoming Dance/Party, so we all have time to go change and get ready. I head back to my room.

Shane:

For the first time in my college life, I do not attend the Cardinal's home game. There was no way I could manage parking the car, hobbling my way to the stadium then navigating the extra huge Homecoming crowd of fans to an available seat. Not with my sore foot. Plus, my social anxiety is flaring at the moment. I need a little down time. So, I park my car and hop on just my right foot all the way back to my dorm room, where five hours ago, I learned that Cam was missing. If I plot the events on a mental timeline, I think they only had him for about seven hours before I freed him from his shackles. But still. They were going to make him get drunk. And if he hadn't complied...? They were prepared to drug him.

Finally in my room for the first time since I left it at 7:00am this morning for the science lab, I collapse on my bed. I must have drifted into sleep for a little while because the light in the room has changed dramatically when I open my eyes.

I roll onto my back and lace my fingers together behind my head. I hurt four big guys tonight. They deserved it, but did I go too far? Between the busted noses and the broken arms, they are going to be in a world of hurt for a long time. I wince as a wave of pain roils through my foot.

The next thing I know, my cheeks are wet. I didn't even realize it, but I'm crying. Of course, that's the moment that Cam walks into the room. He has that fresh shower, postgame smell and glow to him. I smile through my silent tears.

When he registers my face, he makes a b-line for me, "Oh my god! Are you okay? Is it your stomach where that fucker hit you? Is it your hurt foot?" He turns back to his side of the room where he keeps a sizable first aid kit that probably all of the athletes on campus have. He selects a tube of cream and sits next to me on my bed.

I shake my head, "I'm fine."

He cautiously places my injured left foot in his lap. My shoes are still on. He says, "This cream is for bruises. It relieves pain and speeds the healing process."

I nod, "I'm sorry I'm breaking your one house rule, but I was afraid that the shoe was the only thing holding my foot together."

He laughs, "You have special permission to break any rule you want."

He begins to slowly untie my Nike high-top sneaker. He is gentle as he slips the shoe off and examines my foot visually through the sock. He holds it up and examines it closely from all angles. So far, it looks like a normal foot. He carefully peels off the sock revealing that the skin along my instep is red and inflamed. He squeezes his bruise cream into his hand and begins a tender application. Once thoroughly applied, he begins to soothingly stroke the uninjured part of my foot and I tense up. As Cam and I have gotten closer to friendship over these two months, we have not really made physical contact. Since that handshake on that first day, we haven't touched at all, until the hugs and the piggyback ride earlier. We've had a touch-free relationship to this point. But right now with my bare foot in his lap, this is an unexpected intimacy.

"Did you go to the medical office and get checked out?" He asks as he continues to caress my foot.

"I really am okay. A little sore, but okay."

"A little sore?" He gives me a look and jiggles my foot, "I don't think there are any broken bones in here, but I'm an aspiring sports psychologist. I don't know sports medicine." He places my foot against his chest, over his heart, giving it a little hug. "Don't try to keep what you're feeling bottled up just because I'm here now. Let it out. It's healthy."

"I don't even know why I was crying. It's a combination of overwhelming emotions. This might come as a shock to you, Cam, but I don't usually freely express my feelings. For me, this was a year's worth of emotion crammed into one day."

"Shocking." He chuckles. He puts my uninjured foot in his lap and begins to undress it.

I shift uncomfortably, "Um, this foot is fine."

The shoe is on the floor and the sock is halfway off, "I can't leave you unbalanced. Besides, I've been told I give good foot rubs."

I've certainly had no complaints so far.

He asks me, "Is now a good time for you to explain your mad fighting skills?"

"No, it's not. You have a party to go to."

He shakes his head, "I'm sitting this one out."

I am too. But that was probably a given.

I ask, "Did you win the game?"

He beams, "54 to 3."

I beam back, "Nice."

"The MVP of the game isn't even on the team."

I feel my cheeks pink up. "Was your coach mad that you were late? What did you tell everyone?"

"I told some of my teammates a CliffsNotes version of the story - by the way, you should expect some serious man hugs coming your way from at least half of the football team."

I smile.

"I told my coach that I lost track of time. He assumed that I meant that I was spending the afternoon with my dad and I didn't correct him. He let it slide."

"Good."

"My turn. Tell me all about you being a human lethal weapon."

I roll my eyes, "Cam, I didn't—"

"You saved my life. This goes way beyond some meaningless football game. If they had stuck that needle in my arm, who knows what might have happened?"

And that's why I was crying before. What if I hadn't gone to last week's game in Elmhurst? What if I hadn't been sitting in front of those guys. No one would have had the clues needed to find him. Maybe something really bad could have happened. A relapse, a new addiction, an overdose...? Maybe I did save his life. And I'd do it again in a minute, regardless of the risk. He's Cam. He's big, kind, sweet, beautiful Cam.

He continues to massage my foot as he awaits my explanation. I sigh, "I've been studying martial arts since I was thirteen. My dad insisted on it."

He asks the question with a cocked eyebrow.

"I was always one of the smaller kids in my class and probably not on my way to being a supersized adult. He thought that as a g—" I stop myself before completing the word, then I go ahead and finish the sentence. "As a gay teenager on his way to gay adulthood, my dad wanted me to be able to take care of myself."

Cam:

Worry crosses his face. He says, "I know I should have told you sooner. Like first thing probably. You are my roommate after all, but it's not like I date or anything. My sexuality won't affect your life in any way. Or our...friendship... Unless you... Are you okay with me...?"

"No!" I almost shout. "Of course I'm okay... I mean, I didn't realize..." I take a breath and try again, "Are you 'out' here at school?"

"Well, I'm not not out."

I make a face.

"I mean, I haven't told anyone, but only because it hasn't come up. I would. I'm not hiding it."

"You never told Riley?"

He shakes his head.

"Why not?"

"We weren't...," he looks me in the eyes and holds it, "Riley and I weren't friends."

I swallow, "You said you don't date or anything. Why not?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you dating. I've seen like every girl on campus checking you out, but you didn't even make a date for the dance tonight. What's up with that?"

I clear my throat, "You obviously 'came out' to your parents when you were thirteen if I am understanding your story correctly."

He nods.

"That's something that I haven't done yet."'

His eyes bulge.

I sigh, "There are so many labels to choose from and even I don't know what's most accurate. Let's just say that I'm queer."

"I—"

"Right. Me too. And before you ask, I'll tell you that you are the only person I've ever said those words to. Not my dad, my friends at home, my teammates here... No one."

I set his foot down and reposition myself next to him. I begin to unbutton his shirt, "Relax," I say. "That was a massive punch you took earlier. Some bruise cream will help."

He tenses and his breathing becomes uneven as my fingers work his buttons lower. After the last is undone, I spread open his shirt. His upper stomach is red and inflamed. I can actually see the shape of four knuckles. I wish I could go beat the shit out of that fucker right now. How dare he hurt this beautiful boy. But then I realize that Shane already took care of that task for both of us. In an autopilot state, I bend down and kiss his stomach where he took that punch.

He quivers.

I tell him, "I plan to do that every day until all evidence of the incident has faded to nothing." I kiss it six more times.

He gulps, "Okay. I won't stop you."

I laugh. And then I mutter, "I could kill that asshole for laying his hands on you."

"And for almost killing you."

I begin to rub some cream on his stomach. He winces, so I'm sure to be gentle. His stomach looks so smooth and innocent. It's lean and vulnerable, but I know there is a layer of muscle under the cover of softness. The punch he took would have crumpled most humans. They would have been down for the count. But not Shane.

Having applied the medicated cream, I set the tube on the side table. I let my fingers explore his lower belly below his bruise. Near his waistband.

He giggles, "What are you doing?"

"Examining you for further injury." I prod, poke and stroke from hipbone to hipbone.

He squirms and laughs, "I have no further injuries."

"You can't be sure. I'll be the judge of that."

I circle his round innie belly button with my index finger and he giggles some more. It's good to know that he's ticklish. That will be fun to explore further another time, but not tonight. We have the rest of the year to figure out which of us is more ticklish. I carefully slip his shirt all the way off. How have I never noticed the physique of the very hot man I share this room with? For whatever reason, this is the first time I've seen him shirtless. My eyes can't stop dancing all over the mesmerizing contours of his arms, his chest and his abs. He is both hard and soft at the same time. Delicate and tough. My fingertips glide over every bump and curve and he sprouts goosebumps all over his body. But I do not tickle him, at least not torturously so. His pants are tented at the crotch and so are mine.

I have to know what he tastes like. I lean down to kiss him, but he surprises me by planting a palm in my chest. He looks me hard in the eyes again and says, "Cam, you do not owe me anything."

Shane:

I know he thinks I saved his life. I don't need to be thanked any more than I already have been. What do they call this? Pity sex? No. Mercy sex. I don't know. But that's not what I want. Not from Cam. Even if he is queer - which I had no idea until just minutes ago. But just because the most gorgeous guy on campus (who also happens to be both the star of the football team and my roommate) happens to not be heterosexual, does not mean that he wants this to happen too.

Whether we both happen to be into dudes or not doesn't change the fact that we are still both complete and total opposites. I might not be the nerdy wimp he presumed me to be, but he's a jock. While he says that none of his dozens of friends are real friends, he is still Mr. Popular and I have always been a loner. His side of the room is a safety hazard. He listens to weird music, plays the wrong video games and yet I am fascinated by him. But he's becoming my friend, my first real friend, and I won't ruin that. Unless he genuinely... But how could he? He is him and I am me. Yes, I came to his rescue. And, no, I've never desired anyone more than Cam Smiley, but how could he desire me back? I am decidedly not desirable.

As he moves in to kiss me, it takes all of both my mental and physical strength to put up my hand and stop him. I tell him that he owes me nothing.

He actually laughs, "Shane, I have a confession to make. The school isn't making me have a roommate as a condition of my scholarship. It's my choice. The problems I had last year were real. I was still grieving the loss of my mom when going away to college shook my life up like a snow globe. I was living independently and I did not handle things well. The school would let me do whatever I wanted. I wanted a roommate. Someone to just be here, who I could talk to. Someone who was going through different things than me. Even more than having someone who I could talk with about my shit, I wanted to be able to focus on someone else too. Give and take. A two-way connection. I had no idea who that roommate would be, my only stipulation was that it NOT be one of my teammates. It turned out to be you."

"Lucky you," I quip.

"Shane, I recognized you from that Psych class last year. We never talked, but I noticed you. I was not disappointed when you showed up all cute that first day. You stood in our doorway all dressed up in that suit, looking at my friends sitting on your bed. You looked like you desperately wanted to wake up from a nightmare."

"Only until I realized which one of you was my roommate. Of course I knew who you were. Who doesn't?"

"Everyone and no one."

I just keep looking at him.

"But now? You do. Shane, I'm not trying to thank you. I'm not pretending..."

He takes my hand and places it between his legs where there is an obvious (and massive) erection beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. "Maybe you think my words are lying to you, here is evidence of the truth. I don't have a raging erection because I feel like I owe you something. You are smart, kind adorable, hot and I desperately want the lower half of your body to be as naked as the upper half currently is."

I giggle. My hand is still on his rock solid shaft.

He finds my own bone through my tented jeans, "And just maybe you find me to be not so bad either?"

"Cam, you are undeniably the hottest guy on campus and that is a clear bonus, but it's everything else."

"I'm a slob."

"Yes. A sweet slob who has the biggest heart. These last two months I've been more confident and social than I ever have before."

"You certainly were not lacking in confidence tonight."

I blush, "You bring it out of me. You are going to be the most awesome sports psychologist. You've done more for me in two months than six years of therapy has come close to accomplishing."

"And you've helped me at least as much. Just being there and being willing to really talk to me, beyond the superficial stuff. Not to minimize the amazing superhero you were tonight, but this is about so much more than that."

"I'm so glad I made it in time before they caused real damage."

He grins at me, "You're freaking Sherlock Holmes and Superman in one. I don't know how you did it. You're not just hot, you're fucking brilliant."

I grab his neck, pull him down and kiss the shit out of him. It only occurs to me right now that I've been dreaming - no, fantasizing - about this for two months now. He slows me down and I follow his lead. He lavishes me with playful nibbles and pecks that gradually evolve into passionate kisses and eventually our tongues meet. I make room for him and he stretches out next to me on my bed. We kiss until our mouths are raw and red.

Cam stands up and pulls off his shirt. He is a spectacular spectacle to behold. And I so want to behold him. His perfect form belongs on the cover of a sports magazine. He steps out of his shoes and rejoins me on the bed, but this time, his head is at the foot of the bed. He buries his face in the soles of my bare feet, kissing them and nibbling at my toes. I giggle. But then he slides my body lower and I realize what's about to happen.

Cam:

I start to work at his button and zipper. His hands simultaneously grapple at the drawstring of my sweatpants. We each wiggle free of our confining bottoms and our erections spring free. I have never been so close to someone else's penis before and Shane might be a smaller guy than me, but in this arena, small is not a word that comes to mind. I will have fun officially measuring him at some point, but for now, I'll estimate his length at just shy of an impressive eight inches. And as it throbs millimeters from my face, I get final confirmation that Shane wants this too.

I take his manhood in my hand and he gasps from my grip. He follows my lead and I'm as hard as he is.

Shane says, "Maybe you should switch from football to baseball. You've got quite the bat to work with."

"Look who's talking," I grip him again playfully and he moans.

I kiss and lick all up the left side of his shaft, slither my tongue across his slit (that drives him crazy in the best possible way) and then massage my tongue down the right side. It's suddenly hard to concentrate on what I'm doing to him because his mouth action on me has me seeing skyrockets. I fight through it and take his balls in my mouth. He moans and does the same to me. I slather and suck up the underside of his shaft and smile to myself when I make his knees knock together. He gets his revenge when he copies my move and I almost kick a whole in the drywall with my foot.

The appetizer is over and it's time for the main course. I grab his ass cheeks in both hands and pull him close. He is still as hard as hard gets. Our game of follow the leader continues as he does the same to me. I take in as much of his length as I can. I turn my head back and forth and create some twisting friction action and he hums into my dick, still copying my moves. I grip his bubble butt harder and take him in further, challenging the limits of my ability. He actually seems to be taking me in deeper than I am him. Being the competitive type, I am not willing to be outdone. I go deeper and my lips form a tight seal at the base of his shaft. He's keeping up with me just fine. I massage his butt and suck on his pole like a candy cane.

We go at each other with reckless abandon and I know that I am getting close. I signal this to him with a little "humph" sound and he does the same. We keep up the intensity and within a minute, I am about to blow. I begin an aggressive slide up and down him and he is close too. Right as I explode in his mouth, I catch his burst in the back of my throat. We might be opposites in many ways, but right now, we are in complete sync with each other.

~~

I'm dressed again, and sad that Shane is buttoning his shirt. Sometimes life isn't fair. But hey. He's my roommate. If I hide all of his t-shirts, he'll be forced to sleep shirtless every night.

I pick up his feet and put them in my lap. I carefully begin to put his socks back on as he says, "I can do it myself."