Toddy found Bryant standing behind the bar, staring at the brandy snifter that was half filled with coins and bills. There was a piece of masking tape across the front of the glass, with BRI written on it. "Haven't counted your tips yet?"

Bryant gave him a wondering smile. "I can't believe it, Toddy. I don't know how much it is, but I can tell just by looking that it's more money than I've had at one time in years."

Toddy patted his arm. "Well, some of it's because you're new. You just have to be sure that by the time your novelty wears off, you're so good that they keep up the level. I don't think you'll have any trouble."

Bryant emptied out the jar, counting it quickly. "I'll be able to take a cab home."

"I'm sure Clive would come pick you up."

"I'm sure he would, but I like the idea of standing on my own two feet, Toddy. Clive gave me a key before we came here." Bryant felt his chest swell slightly with pride. "Trenton has the only other one."

Bryant called a cab, and Toddy waited with him outside till the taxi arrived, talking quietly. Bryant told him that he was pretty sure there'd be no problem with scheduling classes the next semester so that he could continue to work. Toddy assured him that he could have all the hours he could handle. During the taxi ride to Clive's apartment, Bryant again counted his tips. With the salary Toddy had offered him, he'd do all right even if the tips weren't consistent. The idea of actually earning, getting money that was all his to do with as he pleased, was intoxicating.

He was whistling as he went up the stairs and unlocked the apartment. The front room was dark, save for the glow of the computer. Clive was sitting in front of it, typing. He glanced up as Bryant entered. "How was your first evening?"

"Hectic, but it was a blast." He locked up and took his jacket off, hanging it on a peg near the door. "I have to tell you, Clive--I don't think most people appreciate how wonderful it is to just be able to talk to someone without having to worry about getting thumped for it if a particular person finds out."

"Many of them are blissfully unaware, but I can't say I'd truly wish the knowledge on them."

Bryant came over. "I planned to sneak in so I wouldn't wake you. I thought Trent said he'd talked you into going to bed at decent hours?"

Clive sighed. "I do--when he's here." Bryant noticed a nearly empty glass sitting on the desk. It smelled sharply of alcohol. He gave it a questioning flick. "Yes, I have been drinking a bit. No, I have not drunk too much. I don't often drink alone, Bryant. It's just..." his voice faded for a moment, his hand moving over to touch a small framed photograph. It was a picture of Trenton--showing him in a maroon and gold graduation gown and mortarboard. The boy's expression was grave, but even in the dim light Bryant could make out a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It's just that lately 'alone' has seemed even more so, if you can understand that."

"I can," Bryant said quietly.

Clive traced a fingertip along the lean line of the image's jaw. "But I DO need to get to bed. Busy day tomorrow at work. I'll just finish up this email to Scribe."

Bryant pulled back a little in surprise. "You can write to Scribe?"

Clive held a finger to his lips. "Sh. We don't want word to get out. The poor lamb would be beseiged."

"But HOW? She's in another dimension, isn't she?"

"Dear, I don't ask. She put her head together with Superman and some of his Justice League cronies, and they figured out a way. She's the only one on her end who can send, and there's only three or four of us over here with the technology to send to her. Apparently it's all due to a teeny chip about," he measured a scant length, "this big. I don't even pretend to try to understand--I just enjoy it. She amuses herself, and us, by sending naughty fictions to mailing lists over here. She writes under her own name, but of course no one believes it's HER. There must be several hundred people using variations of her screen name just in Metropolis. In fact, she is occasionally chastised for using her own name. She assures me that she laughs her ass off over those. In any case, I like to write her when I feel a little blue. She's very good for cheering one up."

"Tell her hi for me."

"I've told her a bit about you. If you'd rather I didn't, I can delete that portion."

"No, no, that's fine. I'm not going to be buying ads in the newspaper, but I'm not going to be ashamed of what I went through, either."

Clive patted his shoulder. "That's the way to live, dear." He typed rapidly for a moment, then clicked the mouse, and shut off the computer. As he stood, he said, "I've made up the other bedroom, Bri, so you have a choice of where you'd like to sleep tonight. I will advise you that I believe that the next time Trent sleeps over, I'll want my room for just we two."

Bryant smiled. "Sure, Clive, I understand. If you don't mind, I'd like to sleep with you tonight. Waking up with someone, especially someone I like, is still a novelty to me."

"May you never grow blase about it, precious." He patted Bryant on the shoulder, then headed for his room. "But I'll warn you that all you're getting tonight is the sleeping part. I'm more tired than I'd thought. You know, I often tell Trenton that he exhausts me, but usually it's not that at all." He smiled at Bryant as he began to unbutton his shirt. "Being around Trenton is rather like being hooked up to a vitamin B-12 drip. He just energizes me."

As Bryant undressed he thought, I guess this is one of the down sides of being in love. You can feel at sea when you can't be with the one you love. He thought of how Clive and Trent were together--the silent comfort, the unmistakable warmth, the light in their eyes when they looked at each other. It's worth it, he decided.

On Saturday, Trenton helped Elise in the kitchen while Bryant received more training, and Clive did the books for Attitudes at one of the tables. When Clive caught Bryant eyeing his glasses with amusement, he said tartly, "No, I do not like wearing them, but if I don't, I squint when I do close work. I'd rather look silly for a little while than develop crow's-feet before I have to."

"They make you look... interesting."

"God, darling, that is such a loaded compliment. It can mean anything from 'oh, you troll', to 'lay down so I can jump your bones immediately'."

"Somewhere closer to the bones jumping end of the spectrum."

"Thank you."

"Clive, I was wondering."

"Yes?"

"I think it might be a good idea if Trenton skipped gym class and practice on Monday."

Clive put down his pencil. "Do you believe that Lowell will be a problem?"

"Oh, Priory will be a problem, all right. It's his natural state. I don't think he'll get violent--he wouldn't want to risk his job--but I can practically guarantee you that he'll be nasty. I'll deal with it, because I'm not going to let the shit screw my life up any more than he already has, but there could be some fall-out. I don't want Trenton to get caught in it, if I can help it."

"You do have Dom instincts, Bri--thinking of a submissive's safety first. I appreciate it, but Trenton wouldn't stay home even if both Lynette and I ordered him to, and this is one of the very few instances where I would expect him to disobey. But he knows that I'm not going to try to forbid him to lend support to a friend. Don't worry. I believe that Lowell is even more of a physical coward than he is a bully."

"That's what I think, but I didn't really expect him to try to get physical in front of so many witnesses, either." Bryant sighed. "Maybe it was just that he was feeling more secure on his home turf. Then again, he was still drunk. Maybe sober, in public, at his place of WORK, he'll have enough sense to reign it in."

"Yes, dear." And pigs may fly. Clive stood up. "Judging from the ambrosial aroma drifting from the kitchen, that apple cake Trenton was obsessing about yesterday should be done. I am informed that it is best eaten warm, with a generous smear of butter. I have great respect for my boy's opinions, but I intend to find out for myself."

Priory wasn't in the locker room when the boys arrived to suit up for practice on Monday. This wasn't unusual enough for comment, even though the coach usually stalked through the locker room, beginning his training needling early. And copping a good look at all the bodies, Bryant thought.

They were gathered at the pool, chatting idly while they waited, when Lowell entered. The conversations died as he stalked toward the group of young men, then the whispering started.

Priory's face was a mess. Not only was his nose splinted, but his right eye was black, the jaw on that side was swollen, and he had a cut lip. Trenton viewed the damage, then glanced quickly at a stoic Bryant. In Lowell thought that his students knew how he had come to be so battered, there could be trouble.

One of the freshmen, who really should have known better, piped up, "Geez, coach, what happened?"

Priory scowled, then winced as the expression pulled at the healing skin on his lip. "Car accident," he said shortly.

The same freshman (and oh, this kid really needed to grow some common sense--fast) said, "But I saw your car in the parking lot, and it doesn't look..."

"What the fuck are you loafers doing, standing around and jawing? We have that meet coming up, and by Christ I intend to take home first place. If I don't, I'll have you swimming sprints till you all fucking grow gills!"

The boys quickly lined up to begin their relay practice. Priory pointed at Bryant. "You--McAllister. Why are you suited up? You can't swim, and you know it. Get back to the locker room and change into your civies."

Bryant eyed him coldly, suspecting what he had in mind. "I can help with the timing, and I'd rather not risk getting my clothes wet."

Priory's eyebrows lowered. "Are you arguing with a direct order, boy? In case you don't remember, kid, I'm in charge here."

Bryant didn't like it, but he couldn't very well object to what was, on the surface, a perfectly reasonable order. It might raise a stink, and that might make Priory even more pugnacious. Hating the fact that he was giving in yet again, even on such a small thing, he turned and headed for the locker room.

The other boys started their practice, with Lowell and a couple of the senior students timing them. Trenton, waiting his turn, watched Lowell. He wasn't very subtle, impatiently glancing toward the door to the locker room every few seconds. Trenton could see it coming. Sure enough, Lowell handed his stop watch over to a student and told the class to keep practicing, he'd be right back.

Trenton could feel his gorge rising with apprehension. He waited for only a moment, then slipped out of line and padded after Lowell, moving softly when he reached the locker room. He slipped between the banks of lockers, headed toward where he knew Bryant had stowed his gear. He heard the voices, low and intense, and stopped to listen, feeling absolutely no shame at eavesdropping. This was serious business--he was worried about his friend.

"...don't try to tell me you aren't fucking him. There's only one thing a fag like that could want from someone like you."

Bryant's voice was cold. "I'm not denying it, but it's none of your fucking business anyway. Can't you get it through your head, Pri? We're through! You have no say--none--in where I go, what I do, or who I do."

"It has to count for something, Bryant. Four years. Four years I sheltered you, clothed you, fed you..."

"Fucked me, made me your houseboy, beat me. You might think that was a fair exchange, but I have news for you, Pri--it wasn't. The only thing I can say in your favor is that you never once said you loved me. At least you were honest about that, but it is fucking frigid comfort, man. Now, why don't you go back and do your job, and let me finish dressing in peice? I don't like having you for an audience."

Lowell's voice was low and hard. "I can make things bad for you, McAllister."

Trenton raced silently back to the front door, then came boldly down the main aisle, letting his feet slap loudly on the tile. "Coach? Coach Lowell?"

Bryant and Lowell were standing close together, both of them flushed with anger. Lowell looked at Trenton and snapped, "What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be doing laps."

Trenton developed a limp, his face twisting in mock pain. "I got a charlie horse. Can I have some of the heat rub?"

Lowell rolled his eyes. "Every other goddamn swimmer is a pussy. Go on, you know where it is."

"Sit down, Trent, and I'll bring it to you," ordered Bryant. Lowell gave the blond boy a hard stare, but Bryant ignored him, walking to the medicine chest that hung on the wall beside the lockers. Bryant brought the tube of cream back to where Trenton had eased himself down on a bench. "You can go supervise the class, coach," said Bryant cooly. "I can take care of this, since I can't join in the practice." Lowell grunted, but went back out to the pool.

Bryant knelt at Trenton's feet, offering him the tube. "Squeeze some in my hand--I can't do it while I'm stove up like this."

"Bryant, I don't really need this."

"I know that, Trent. But this will give us an excuse to stay here a little while." Trenton squeezed a dab of the ointment into Bryant's palm, and the older boy began to strongly massage Trent's calf. "Thank you for caring enough to come in, but it wasn't necessary. I was doing fine."

"I know you were, but I worry. I'm a worrier. Clive says that I occasionally channel a Jewish bubbie."

"Mm. How does this feel?"

"Pretty damn good."

"Not too warm?"

"No, this is really mild. Sometimes I use it to give Clive rub-downs after he's had a hard day."

Bryant was now massaging Trent's thighs, stroking first one, then the other. "Really, now? What sort of massage?"

"Full body--and I mean full. Do you seriously think there could be any other kind with Clive?" Bryant's strong fingers were working on the muscles of Trenton's inner thighs. "Man, that feels good, but you'd better stop."

"Why?"

"It feels too good. I can't go back out there with a boner in these trunks."

"No, you're right about that. We'll just have to do something about that pretty thing." Bryant rose to sit beside Trent, and slid his hand down the front of Trenton's swimsuit. Trenton gasped, his eyes darting wildly toward the door. "Don't worry. Priory will make it a point of pride not to let anyone come back here. He's determined to prove that he couldn't care less about me, so we have a little time. Forget about him, and think about me."

His hand enclosed Trenton's half-hard prick, squeezing gently. "I'm taking you at your word that this stuff is mild, Trenton. What's your safe word?"

"Swan dive," Trent breathed.

"Use it if you need to." Bryant began to knead at his handful of flesh, feeling it thicken and firm rapidly. Trenton's breath speeded up, his head dropping back. "Yes, that's nice, isn't it?"

"Oh, man. So warm."

"Not too?"

"No. Perfect."

Bryant squeezed as he stroked and Trenton cried out softly, biting at his own hand to still the sound. "That's right, Trent. You have to be quiet, very quiet." Bryant's hand moved faster, more strongly, pumping the turgid cock. "Mm, you're getting all slippery. I'd like to taste you, but I don't think it would be wise. I mean, really--if someone walked in and I had your cock down my throat, sucking you off..." Trenton moaned at the lascivious words, "Sound, Trenton, sound. I'll tell Clive to spank you, if you aren't good."

"Yes, sir," Trent whispered. "Oh, please... please."

"Mm, you're close. Maybe just a little." He let go. "Trunks down, and lay back on the bench." Trenton obeyed swiftly, skinning off his swimsuit and lying lengthwise on the bench. His legs dangled off to each side, leaving his crotch raised, his long, hard erection wavering. Bryant straddled the bench, gripped the tempting cock, leaned over, and deep-throated his friend. Trenton clamped his hands over his own mouth to muffle a scream of pleasure, hips arching as he shot his load.

Bryant swallowed quickly, leaving only faint traces of semen on Trenton's softening dick when it slid out of his mouth. "Wash up at the sink, Trent," he said as the dazed boy got to his feet. "You can't go back into the pool like that."

Trenton cleaned up and put on his trunks while Bryant finished dressing. The red-headed boy went to the blond and silently laid his head on the older boy's shoulder for a moment. Bryant stroked Trent's damp curls, then patted him on the rump, and they headed back out to class.

At the pool, Bryant got a stop watch and began timing sprints, under Lowell's frowning supervision. One of the other boys asked Trenton, "Are you okay now?"

"Hm?"

"Coach said you had a cramp. Is the stiffness gone?"

Trenton gave him a blinding smile. "It sure is."