iDo Read online

  High Ball: iDo

  Copyright © 2008 by Willa Okati

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78650.

  ISBN:978-1-60370-389-5, 1-60370-389-6

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Torquere Press electronic edition / September 2008

  Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78650.

  www.torquerepress.com

  Chapter One

  The alarm clock goes off an hour early. That's never a good sign as far as Guy's concerned. He rolls over, squishing half his face into the pillow -- mmm, good pillow -- and cracks open one eye to squint at the obnoxiously bright and far too brazen digital readout informing him that yes, it is actually five a.m. Not six.

  Guy's not the best thinker in the world when he's freshly awake, and definitely not before he's had a few cups of coffee. Maybe a pot of coffee. It all depends on how sleep-hungover he is. It takes him a minute of peering at the clock and fumbling for his glasses to board the logic train, which tells him that the clock is new and therefore cannot be broken-down already (and if it is, he's getting his money back), which then means that someone had to have reset the alarm for ungodly o'clock.

  As there's only one other person in his apartment at this time, Guy concludes that the evil clock re-setter has to have been the man currently snoring by his side. Cameron. The man Guy will, ninety-nine percent of the time, say he loves. Who he's not feeling too fond of right now, and who'd better have a damn good reason for deliberately waking Guy up this early -- Guy alone, because as evidenced by his contentedly sleeping on, drooling a few drops on his pillow, Cameron could easily sleep through an archangel blowing reveille on his trumpet.

  Guy considers crawling out of bed, shuffling into the kitchen and coming back with a handful of ice cubes to dump down Cameron's sleep shorts. Even he's not that cruel no matter what the cause, though, and to be fair he does love the idiot, so he settles on poking Cameron in the soft part of his side. Sharply.

  "Mmf?" Cameron mumbles, sleep-slurred. "Guy?"

  "Who else would it be?" Guy shakes Cameron's shoulder. "There some reason you set the clock back?"

  "Mmf?"

  Guy rolls his eyes. "Forget it. I'm going back to sleep."

  "No, no, wait, hang on." Cameron sits up, rubbing his eyes and yawning like the great big kid in a grown man's body that he is. And what a body. No matter how grouchy he might be, Guy's mouth goes dry when he gets his first look of the day at Cameron's long, lean torso and cobbled abs.

  He thinks, for a moment, that it's should be illegal in all states for Cameron to have those kinds of muscles when Cameron never does anything to earn them, but what the hell. Guy gets to enjoy the eye candy. It tends to make up for the miles he himself has to jog and the weights he lifts whenever he has time to stay in shape.

  As directed, Guy patiently holds his horses. If he's slow to wake up, Cameron could compete for his country in early morning grogginess. Cameron blinks dazedly into the darkness and stretches his arms, nearly clocking Guy in the nose.

  "Watch it, pal." Guy settles himself more comfortably on the bed and tucks his hands behind his head. He gazes at Cameron, at the smoothness of his skin over his deep-baked tan and the disheveled state of his shoulder-length hair, bleached three shades lighter than its natural toffee brown by Cameron's hours in the sun. It's escaped from its habitual ponytail, and Cameron looks as if a startled hedgehog in need of a conditioning treatment attached itself to his head during the night.

  Though he's not at Cameron's level, Guy knows he's no slouch in the looks department. He's turned a few heads in his day with his strong jaw and his clear gray eyes. He does, however, flatter himself that his shorter, tidier hair doesn't do that unless he's caught in gale-force winds coming in from the Gulf.

  Cameron turns to Guy, smiling sleepily. "Morning."

  "Same to you," Guy replies, almost fully awake now, his mood improving by the moment. "Cameron. The alarm?"

  "Huh?" Cameron blinks dozily. "Oh! Right. I wanted some extra time this morning."

  Fair enough. Guy's long since accepted what he calls Cameron's absentmindedness and what others call Cameron's complete flakiness. They don't know his baby like he does. He waits for Cameron to marshal his thoughts, and in the meantime reaches out and strokes the spot he jabbed earlier, smoothing his hand further down over Cameron's trim hip, then traces the cut of defined obliques, getting interested in going further. He needs to take a piss, but what better way of dealing with morning wood first?

  Cameron snaps his fingers. "I remember now!" He beams and kicks off the soft, ancient crazy quilt made from a couple dozen of his T-shirts that had been worn down to rags. Cameron never throws anything away if he can help it.

  Guy's more interested in what Cameron's doing than in the bedding. He watches Cameron squirm up and onto his knees, then clumsily shuffle his way over. Is he going to…?

  Cameron fumbles his way between Guy's legs. He taps Guy's left knee, though he didn't have to. Guy has a pretty good idea where this is going and has already spread 'em, proving ample room for Cameron to crawl on in and make himself at home.

  "I wanted to wake you up with a blowjob," Cameron explains, beaming up at Guy. "Okay?"

  Guy considers pointing out that he's already awake, but who cares about being pedantic when Cameron's offering up that talented mouth? "Okay," he agrees, shutting his eyes. He whuffles out a fake snore and smacks his lips.

  He can almost feel the ripples of satisfaction vibrating off Cameron. Playtime. Cameron dips his head to Guy's groin, nuzzling through the dark blue boxer briefs, and breathes hot, moist air over Guy's seriously interested -- nay, insistent -- erection that no longer has anything to do with the hour, and all to do with Cameron cozying down ready, eager and willing between his thighs.

  "Morning," Cameron murmurs, slowly dragging the elastic of Guy's shorts down over his hips. Guy's cock springs eagerly free and barely has a second exposed to the chilly morning air before Cameron devours him, lips forming a tight seal and sliding down. He swallows when the head of Guy's cock hits the softness at the back of his throat.

  Guy groans in time with Cameron, fisting his hands in their rumpled sheets. "Morning," he replies hoarsely.

  It's the last thing he says, far too busy after that with hissing between his teeth and panting, thrusting eagerly into Cameron's mouth. Cameron pushes him slowly and lazily over the edge, rubbing off on Guy's leg at the same time. He licks the last drop of come off Guy's satisfied cock and shudders, then relaxes, sweat-damp hair tickling the soft inner skin of Guy's leg.

  "Worth waking up early?" Cameron mumbles, cozying in for -- Guy checks the clock -- thirty-five more minutes' worth of sleep.

  He rumples up Cameron's tangled hair and sighs, contented. "Completely worth it."

  ***

  It's mid-morning on that already wonky Tuesday when Guy's life changes forever. He's taking his morning coffee break, escaping for fifteen minutes from the hectic insanity of the radio station's main administrative center where Guy serves his time and earns his pay DJ-herding and tech-crew organizing. The coffee he's just made is hot, fresh, and ready to be drunk with due reverence.

  Right before his world turns, Guy's standing back in the small kitchen just out of sight of the main lounge area, shaking powdered creamer into his mug. He's mostly hidden from a clear line of sight when two of the junior trainees sweep in on a cloud of coconut-scented perfume and a tide of girly giggling.

  Guy backsteps automatically, tactically retreating into the alcove forme
d between the frighteningly large coffee machine and the wall. He doesn't do well with excited women; he never knows what to say and what not to say.

  They don't notice him, too intent on their conversation.

  "So anyway, have you heard the latest about the new weekend DJ, Clay?" the taller of the two -- Carrie -- asks, scandalized excitement turning her soprano into a near squeak.

  Guy promptly tries to ignore them in favor of stirring his coffee. He's barely even met the guy, has little to nothing to do with the weekend crew, and it wouldn't be his business anyway.

  Besides, he's got more interesting things to occupy his thoughts. Guy's mind drifts to thoughts of Cameron, of the sleepily satisfied smile on his angular face and a smear of Guy's come on his lower lip that begged to be licked off. And who was Guy to deny such a basic request? And while he was at it, why not drag Cameron bodily into the shower with him to make sure Cameron was fully clean from head to toe and cock?

  Guy's toes curl at the memory of the shower pattering down on his back while he busied himself with licking Cameron's ass until Cameron gasped, shuddered and shot on the shower wall, creamy, thick come dripping down the tiles, Guy petting and soothing him as he fell to pieces.

  And then Cameron turned them around, his mouth hot and hungry over Guy's collarbone and his hand urgent on Guy's cock, working him without mercy and swallowing his yell when he came.

  Guy wonders if Cameron's savoring the same memories as he works. He bets so. Right about now Cameron is halfway through his morning shift at the lifeguard station, soaking up the sun like a contented cat and letting his mind drift while he keeps his eyes open.

  Given the pleasantness of the distraction, Guy almost loses the thread of the hirelings' gossip.

  "No," the second woman gasps. "You're kidding me."

  "I'm as serious as the day is long."

  She could have fooled Guy. The instigator -- what is her name, Cara? Carrie? -- something like that -- wears the kind of vicious smile of the cat who's just finished a bowl of cream and is eyeing a canary for dessert.

  "But… he doesn't, you know…" Her partner in crime -- Heidi, Guy thinks -- lowers her voice. "He doesn't look gay. Does he?"

  Guy's eyebrows shoot up. Who's gay? That new DJ, Clay? Huh. That'll make two of them at the station. One more and they can form a club.

  He's as surprised as the ladies, so it takes a few seconds for the significance surrounding their giggling shock to sink in.

  Doesn't "look" gay? What's that supposed to mean? He doesn't run around in makeup and high heels? Guy's temper prickles.

  "I know, I know." Carrie fans herself. "Such a waste!"

  Guy grits his teeth.

  Heidi shakes her head, her lips pursed up in a moue of disappointment. "And to think, he could have hooked up with any one of us here --"

  "Stop it," Carrie giggled, delighted.

  "Any one of us," Heidi insists, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Or any woman out there."

  The two women take a silent moment to contemplate Clay's many charms.

  "And now he won't even ever get married," Heidi laments. "Not really. What do gays do, anyway?"

  "Promise rings or something?" Carrie shrugs. "How would I know? It's not like they're real marriages, legal or not. Man and woman, that's what makes a marriage. They're just pretending." She checks her watch. "Ooh, I'd better get back. I've been gone ten minutes already and Guy will have my hide if he catches me 'slacking' on the clock."

  Neither one of them budges an inch.

  "Guy would be a waste, too, if he wasn't a total stuck-up prick," Heidi agrees. "Such a dragon."

  "Drag queen, you mean," Carrie replies archly. "So gay. Now he looks the type."

  "Mmm-hmm. You can tell he's queer from a mile away."

  Excuse me? Guy stares at them, unnoticed.

  "God, have you seen his boyfriend, though? He came to the Christmas party last year and I thought I would just die, he's so hot." Carrie hugs her chest, boobs spilling over her forearms. "I'd like to be the one who changes his mind. How'd a tight-ass like Guy get a sexy beach boy like him? What's his name?"

  "Carver or Charley or something; I know it starts with a 'C'. And girl, you'll have to stand in line to convert that one. Now him, it's a real shame he's not straight. Can you imagine the things a body that fine could do in bed?"

  "In living color." Carrie sighs. "I wonder if he and Guy will stay together."

  "Probably not. You know how those types jump from one man to another."

  "And you want to be there to catch what's-his-name -- Cameron, that's it -- when he freefalls?"

  "You know it." Carrie clicks her tongue, infusing the noise with regret and irritation. "Come on, we really should go before we get in trouble."

  The two sweep out of the staff lounge with their heads bent together, whispering and giggling, never having noticed Guy at all.

  Guy gapes after them, at a loss for words.

  He's not sure how long he stands there, rooted to the spot, consuming his cooling coffee sans sugar one miniscule sip at a time. It's not as if he can really taste the cheap java, anyway. His head's a whirl of surprise and irritation, and for some reason his tangled emotions don't boil down to anger over what they've said about him, though he is annoyed on Clay's behalf.

  That which dominates Guy's mind, consuming him to the exclusion of all else, is the word marriage. Personally, he's never seen what the big deal is about a piece of paper and a lecture from a preacher, though he and Cameron celebrated the California legislation in high style.

  Yet still, there are women -- and men -- like Carrie and Heidi, who will always point and laugh and mock. "Legal or not", they said. And you know what? The indignity burns. Who are they to say what's real and what isn't? Who are they to place bets on how long his "fly by night" relationship with Cameron will last?

  Guy decides, with the last shred of his calm: fuck that noise.

  Guy's anger has time to coalesce into a fine, irrational fury by the time the door to the staff lounge swings open again. He glances up, determined not to go unnoticed this time, and finds himself staring at none other than Cameron himself, leaning inside the door.

  Cameron's gorgeous, his bronzed skin glowing with health and vitality, his grin broad and happy. "Hiya, handsome."

  "Hi yourself." Guy tosses his empty Styrofoam cup in the trash. An idea's coming to him. It's more than a little terrifying, but it dazzles him with its utter perfection.

  Best to be sure first, though. Stalling for time to make sure he knows his mind, no take-backs or do-overs allowed, Guy asks, "What are you doing here?"

  Cameron enters the lounge one lazy, ambling step at a time and shuts the door behind him. Guy notices a familiar gleam in Cameron's eye, one of his favorites.

  "Kyle wanted to switch shifts," Cameron explains. "There's a new twenties beach aerobics class starting today and he begged at the foot of my chair. It was awesome. And it's not like I want to watch jiggling tits all wrapped up in Spandex." Cameron winces, stubbing his toe on a table as he approaches, but not letting that slow him down. "So I thought I'd come surprise you." He reaches Guy and slings his arms loosely around Guy's waist. "Surprise."

  Guy returns the embrace, thoughtfully stroking Cameron's hips. The fineness of the soft skin is covered by Cameron's cut-offs, but he knows it's there. The motion and the mental image helps him think. He looks the two inches up at Cameron, considering what he sees there. A gorgeous man. His man. No one else's, not now, not ever, be damned to the Carries and Heidis of the world.

  They need to respect him, at least, and understand that for Guy -- and for Cameron -- this is as real as it gets, and it's a hell of a lot more than most couples ever have. Guy already knows he'll be in love with Cameron until the day he dies.

  Now, he knows he wants to marry this man.

  Cameron's forehead creases with worry. "What's wrong? You're looking at me like I grew a third eye."

  "Nothing's wrong that can't be f
ixed," Guy says. He steps back and catches one of Cameron's hands, entangling his fingers with Cameron's, raises Cameron's hand to his lips, and kisses the knuckles.

  "Gallant," Cameron observes, looking ever more uncertain by the second. "Guy? You okay?"

  "Never better," Guy says, firmly decided. As shy as he is, he's possibly even more stubborn. He'll do this.

  Using his grasp on Cameron's hand for balance, Guy sinks to one knee. By happy coincidence, this puts him at eye level with Cameron's groin, one of his favorite places. He hopes like hell someone comes in and catches them like this.

  "Um." Cameron stares at him. "What are you doing down there?" He brightens, making an assumption. "Seriously? You're gonna blow me where anyone could see?"