Dean drove his big pickup truck to the rodeo leagues’ training facility. Since they were one of the biggest, most lucrative gay rodeos in the world, they had the finest facilities and trainers available next to the straight leagues, who were at times so homophobic they didn’t even recognize the gay rodeos existed. Though he was tired from a long day of shooting, he had to keep up his skill level for the upcoming event. He parked in front of the office, adjusting his cowboy hat and spinning his keys on his finger as he entered. “Dean…go on back to the training area. They’re waitin’ on you.” “I know.” He kept walking through the building to the big arena where speed riders practiced, racing around barrels, roping calves and finally, to the dirt arena where the tough boys worked on their bull and bronc riding skills. He stopped at a rail and propped up his boot, watching the action. Dirk was talking with a young buck, who was nodding, a dark cowboy hat on his head, holding his glove. Clint Wolcott made Dean’s mouth water. Ever since he’d spotted the young stud he wanted to chew on him. Clint was a big man, six-two and muscular, but not the gym-steroid junkie-tattooed brutes who he made films with. Dean didn’t know who made him hotter, Clint or his blond twink-fluffler. But he liked them young. Young and pretty. Clint nodded to his trainer and climbed back into a pen where a bull was waiting. They had a few training animals, but not the high quality of the PBR set. Still, nothing beat training on a live bull, and their league was one of the few gay rodeo leagues that did. Mechanical bulls only brought a cowboy so far, the real McCoy was what was needed to win. And in this high division? The wins were big money with the potential for sponsorship contracts and prestige. A pat on his bottom drew Dean’s attention. “You ready to go? Or is your ass sore from all your porn fucking?” “I do the fucking,” Dean sneered as he spoke, “I don’t get fucked.” “Then come on. Time to get bucked.” Dean looked back at Clint as he readied for his ride, and though he wanted to watch that handsome man, he had his own training to get to. ~ Clint finished his workout with the live stock training bull, trying to walk without limping as his low back and legs became stiff and beat up. The expectation level for his performance this coming event was high. All of the big boys behind the scenes were counting on Clint to win it all, bringing them fame and new members, which always turned into cash. “You all right?” another rough stock rider asked as Clint limped by. “Yeah.” He didn’t need nannies. Bad enough Cheyenne knew his weaknesses. Clint kept walking, feeling sore from his ass to his hand. He stood before a locker and stripped, ready for a shower and a physical therapy session to keep his joints in shape. Tossing his shirt into his locker Clint sat on a bench to tug his boots off when someone stood in front of him. He stared at the imposing bulge in the man’s pants, his pointy black boots with the silver tips and then looked up. Dean smirked at him. “Hello, cowboy.” “Hey.” Clint didn’t like this man. Dean had teased and flirted with him even though Dean knew he and Cheyenne were loyal partners. Clint removed his second boot and socks, standing to take off his pants. He hesitated. Dean leaned against the lockers, arms crossed over his powerful chest, the red flannel stretched over his biceps. “Don’t let me stop you.” Clint glared at him and dragged his pants down his legs, tossing the jeans into the locker. “Don’t you have trainin’ to head to?” “Yup.” Dean tipped his hat up on his head, giving Clint’s body a good once over. “You sure are one mighty fine cowboy.” Clint shut the locker and headed to the showers. Towels were stacked on a bench, so he picked one up closing himself into the stall and removing his briefs. He tossed the towel and his briefs over the shower curtain rod. After he turned on the water, washing under the refreshing spray, Clint tried to decompress. Men like Dean were everywhere in this business. Egos that were so large he was surprised more fights didn’t break out. No one wanted to lose. No one. So even between men in the same league, there was heavy competition. He heard footsteps and looked under the stall’s short curtain. Dean’s cowboy boots appeared, and soon after the towel and his briefs were snatched from over the rod. “Are you kiddin’ me?” Clint yelled, hearing Dean’s snicker over the running water. A few men outside the shower stall were chuckling, their deep laughter echoed in the steamy room. Clint tried to calm down but he’d been through a lot of abuse as a teen and his tolerance level for even a silly prank was low. He finished rinsing the soap from his hair and shut the water, listening. He knew what was going on even before he opened the curtain. Touching the top of the rings, preparing to open it, Clint clenched his fist and pushed it back. A group of nearly a dozen cowboys, all dressed in their blue jeans and flannel shirts, began hooting and clapping. Dean relaxed in the center of the group, leaning back, his legs crossed, holding both the towel and Clint’s briefs in his hand. Clint wasn’t going to cover up, but modesty beat out his pride. He cupped his groin and glared at Dean. “Come get it.” Dean held out his things. Clint went for another towel, wrapping it around his hips and returning to his locker. A moment later, Dean appeared, tossing the towel down, but toying with Clint’s briefs. “Nice and sweaty.” Dean grinned, crushing them into his palm. “I know men who would pay me to make tea with these.” “You make me sick.” Clint reached into his locker for clean clothing. “Why are you always on me?” “I wish I was on you.” Dean tossed him the underwear and they fell at Clint’s feet. Clint slipped on a fresh pair and stepped into his jeans. “You need to leave me be. Hear?” Clint zipped his pants. “How can I? You’re my top competitor.” “No. We’re all on the same team now.” He took a shirt out of the locker and buttoned it, then sitting on the bench to put on his socks and boots. “Sure, Clint. All on the same team.” Dean closed in on him so his crotch was at Clint’s eye level. “Why don’t you find yourself a man? Huh?” Clint looked up at him. “You seem to be lonely. Go make a real connection with a guy and leave me alone.” Clint put on his boots, standing up and buckling his prized silver belt which he had one at the last big competition. Dean’s smile widened. “Connect with a man? I’ve already come three times today. How much spunk has your Indian fella worked out of that gorgeous dick of yours?” There was nothing that got Clint more furious than derogatory comments about Cheyenne. “Native American. How many times do I gotta tell ya?” Clint poked Dean’s chest, feeling how big and powerful the man was through the flannel of his shirt. “You need be leavin’ me alone. You got that? This ain’t the first time I’m tellin’ y’all this.” “I can’t help it if you’re irresistible.” Dean made a move to touch Clint’s face. He batted his hand away and stormed off, headed to his physical therapy session. There was no one to complain to. Dean Houston was not only the top performer and star of their league, he was on the board of directors. Clint looked back once, caught Dean’s hungry stare and tried to let it go. He had to choose his battles, and fighting with Dean was a waste of his energy.
