by Xavier Mayne
“Good enough. Let’s get moving.” He led them to a small office where they were each given a lanyard with a badge that said Temporary across the front, and then out to the hangar where the jet waited. At the far end, huge doors were sliding slowly open, admitting the morning sunshine into the dark, still hangar.
Rooster strode purposefully over to the airstairs that had been rolled up to the jet’s forward door. Gesturing for Bryce and Nestor to follow, he charged up the steps two at a time and through the open door. Bryce and Nestor, struck by the enormity of the building and of the plane they were climbing into, took a bit longer to mount the stairway. The world they stepped into could not have been more different from the one they had just inhabited. Instead of the industrial gray steel of the hangar and its vast concrete floor, they were surrounded by a hushed luxury replete with leather and soft carpet and artfully glowing lights hidden under the sweeping arch of the ceiling.
“Nestor, darling, isn’t this amazing?” Bryce whispered. “To experience this kind of luxury, one normally must be royalty, or at the very least the secret lover of a deeply closeted third son of an emir. Nice work, if you can get it.”
“Now boys,” drawled Rooster, “My copilot will be along any minute. All you have to do is pretend to get ready to clean the plane and smile nicely at him, but pretend you don’t speak English. He’ll pretty much ignore you, and after he gets settled in the cockpit, he never gets up. Once we’re airborne and the autopilot is running things, I’ll come back here to check on your work, and we can retire to the stateroom at the rear. Got that?”
Bryce nodded. “Smile, no English—which is nearly the case with my darling Nestor anyway—and then you’ll take us in the rear. Got it.”
Rooster guffawed. “Perfect.” He bent down and looked through the windows toward the hangar office. “Here comes that Ballard asshole now. But before he gets here, I want to give you something to look forward to.” Rooster quickly unzipped his fly and pulled out a cock so stupendously thick and long that even battle-hardened Bryce took in a sharp breath. Nestor had stopped breathing altogether. “And I’m a grower,” Rooster said as he worked with both hands to tuck the massive member back into his pants. He zipped up just as Ballard’s footsteps could be heard on the airstairs.
Rooster turned to the door as Bryce and Nestor walked aft and tried to look busy doing whatever airplane cleaners did when they prepared to get to work. The cold white light of the hangar was momentarily blocked by the hulking form of the first officer as he stepped through the door.
“Ballard,” Rooster said in curt greeting.
Ballard simply grunted in reply, then turned his head to make a brief, professional sweep of the aircraft. “Who’s that?” he asked, jerking his thumb at Bryce and Nestor.
“Cleaners,” Rooster said. “Some kid puked all over the stateroom late last night. These two are going to be cleaning it on the way. Gotta be sure it’s spick-and-span so a bunch of Chihuahuas can crap all over it on the way back, right?”
“Huh.” Ballard didn’t look as though he really cared about anything that happened behind his own seat in the plane. “Tell them not to open the cockpit door.” He turned and walked through that door, then slammed it shut behind him.
Rooster gave Bryce and Nestor a thumbs-up and a big grin, then grabbed his heavily laden crotch and winked. “Take any seat you like, boys, and buckle up. They’ll be towing us outta here in a minute, and we’ll be on our way.” He closed and latched the boarding door, then turned, let himself into the cockpit, and shut the door behind him.
“Now, as the emir’s third son used to say, it’s always better when you’re strapped down.” Bryce smiled cheerfully, took one of a pair of seats just in front of the wing, and motioned Nestor to take the one next to it. They settled into the soft leather and, with the push of a button, reclined comfortably. The plane jostled and thumped, then began to glide smoothly out of the hangar, propelled by a force silent and invisible. The left engine surged to life, followed by the one on the right, and after a moment’s pause, the plane began to roll again. A quick turn, a brief pause, and the engines roared suddenly to full power.
Nestor’s hand slipped over the armrest as the plane gained speed, and Bryce laced his fingers into those of his love. They shared a smile as the plane lifted into the sky.
Evening, at sea
“WELL, THIS is beautiful,” Sandler exclaimed, taking his seat opposite Donnelly.
They were in the lounge at the absolute top of the ship, surrounded by huge windows and gleaming chandeliers and officious waitstaff who, at the moment, seemed to outnumber the guests. They sat at a table next to the largest of the windows, a silver champagne bucket on the table next to the flowers that overflowed a crystal vase. A tuxedoed waiter popped the cork on the champagne and filled their flutes.
As the waiter receded, Donnelly picked up his flute.
Sandler followed suit. “Now, if we were dating,” he said, scrutinizing the fine bubbles scrambling to the surface of his glass. “I would suspect there was a ring in the offing.”
Donnelly laughed. “My proposal to Ethan was nowhere near this fancy. I just sort of blurted it out on the sidewalk.”
“I think that’s much more romantic,” Sandler said, taking a sip of the bubbly. “But if it’s not a proposal—about the absence of which I am utterly devastated, but not at all surprised—I have to ask: what might be the occasion?”
Donnelly took a gulp of champagne and set his flute down on the table. “I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll just lay it out there.” He took a deep breath. “I saw you this morning on the balcony.”
“Oh.” Sandler blushed and turned to look out the window. “You must think I’m some kind of exhibitionistic slut,” he said dismally. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize,” Donnelly said. “I got up early to go to the gym, but when I opened the door of the bedroom, I saw the two of you out there.”
“And we were…?”
“Yes, yes you were,” Donnelly said with a half smile. “Vigorously.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sandler whispered.
“No, you did nothing wrong. It was me. I saw you, and I just… stood there.”
Sandler sat back, a look of utter bafflement on his face. “You just stood there?”
Donnelly nodded miserably.
A smile spread across Sandler’s face. “Gabriel Donnelly, you scoundrel.” He laughed and shook his head.
“I don’t know why I did it,” Donnelly said, looking down.
“I do.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do. It’s the same reason you listened to us the night before last. You’ve led a very sheltered life, and when you suddenly have access to the escapades of a willy-nilly slut like me, you naturally take advantage.”
Donnelly, too ashamed to speak, looked out the window and shifted anxiously in his seat.
Sandler reached across the table and took Donnelly’s hand. “You did nothing wrong, Gabriel. You just missed this part in your growing up as a gay man. You didn’t get a candy-store phase, and this morning? Well, let’s just call that the college-dorm phase. Everyone goes through some version of it—though not everyone gets to see the amazing thing that you did, if I may blow my own horn for a moment.”
“It was pretty amazing. I couldn’t look away, though I knew I should have.”
“Ankur’s like this… this spiritual being. He’s not a party boy, obviously, but it’s like sex is his church. I would never get tired of watching him come.”
Donnelly felt the heat in his cheeks intensify.
“Ah, you saw it too,” Sandler said with a smile. “Just so you know, while there are guys humping all over this ship, no one does it like he does. What you witnessed was transcendent.”
“You sound like you might be falling for him,” Donnelly hinted, glad for a topic of conversation that did not involve his sudden proclivity for voyeurism.
S
andler shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind. In my line of work, getting to sleep with someone a second time is a luxury in which I’ve rarely indulged. I’m usually off to the next job before the sun rises. Of course, I don’t think I’ve met anyone in a long time who I’d even want to see a second time. Not since….” He hesitated, as if afraid to say what he was thinking.
“Trevor?” Donnelly asked quietly.
Sandler took in a sharp breath, a visible sadness flashing across his face. He nodded.
Donnelly studied his face for a long moment. “He reminds you of Trevor, doesn’t he?”
Sandler eyes widened, and his jaw went slack. “How did you know that?”
“Well, I am a police officer,” Donnelly said with a shrug. “Observing people is kind of my thing.”
“Am I being ridiculous? I fear I may be trying to recapture that feeling of being in high school and that first rush of falling for him.” Sandler smiled, and then the sadness returned. “There’s a place in my heart for Trevor, as hard as I’ve tried to let him go. Ankur’s the first person who made me even consider that someone might take that place.”
“That’s good, right? You can’t live your entire life holding back such an important part of yourself.”
Sandler nodded, but not with much conviction. “I know I need to get over him… but, with the way it ended, I don’t know if I ever will.”
Donnelly took a deep breath. “Okay, I have one more thing to tell you.”
Sandler raised an eyebrow. “You are an international man of mystery and intrigue, aren’t you?”
Donnelly rolled his eyes. “If you knew me at home you’d call me a ‘domestic man of duty and routine.’ But after our conversation about Trevor on the train, I sent an e-mail to one of the detectives I work with. Gave her all of the info you mentioned about Trevor to see if she could figure out what happened to him. I know you said that you wanted to think about it, but since we were going to be out of phone range for a week, I just went ahead.”
Sandler froze. “You did that? For me?”
Donnelly nodded. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is. It’s just that… I had kind of given up on ever knowing what happened.” He turned and studied the horizon, where sea met sky. “What did you find out?”
“Nothing yet. The e-mail finally sent from my phone once we got off the train, and all I got before the ship left was a message back from her saying she’d look into it. Once we get to Southampton, we’ll be able to find out if she’s come up with anything.”
Sandler was quiet for a moment. “Do you think she’ll find him?”
“She’s our best detective,” Donnelly replied. “If anyone can find out what became of him, she can.”
“Wow,” Sandler said with a long exhalation, as if he’d just run a race. “I don’t know what to say.” His eyes snapped up to look into Donnelly’s. “Thank you.”
“I hope we find out something good. Ethan calls me a hopeless romantic, but I tell him romance is actually all about hope. That’s when he smacks me with a pillow.”
Sandler grinned. “And you let him get away with that?”
“Oh hell no. He smacks me with a pillow, he knows it only ends one way.”
“Do tell,” Sandler replied, taking a sip of champagne and sitting back in his chair.
An hour later, after some spirited storytelling (the sexy details of which Donnelly found himself censoring less and less), they made their way down to the bar, where Sandler met up with Ankur, and Donnelly teamed up with Dax and Stanley to utterly dominate the trivia competition—he supplied answers for all of the sports questions while the others handled the Broadway musicals and celebrity gossip.
After being crowned captain of the winning team, Donnelly was ready to turn in for the night. “You and your buddy coming back to the suite?” he asked Sandler, who was for the first time that evening not in Ankur’s company.
“I haven’t even had the chance to sleep with anyone more than twice since… well, since Trevor.” Sandler looked over to where Ankur was helping Emmett reset the bar for the next day.
“So you’re not going to?”
Sandler turned back to Donnelly. “Are you fucking kidding me? You saw what he can do.”
Donnelly, embarrassed, nodded guiltily.
“By the way, I told him you saw us this morning,” Sandler added casually.
“You told him?” Donnelly was aghast. But he reconsidered that reaction immediately. Why shouldn’t he know? “I should apologize to him as well, I guess.”
“Not necessary. He thought it was outrageously hot. That’s the phrase he used, ‘outrageously hot.’ He also asked if you would like to join us.”
Donnelly gasped.
Sandler held up his hand. “I know, I know. But he wanted me to ask you anyway. He seemed to feel it was important—like it would let you know he really was okay with you seeing us. But honestly, I think he was serious. So I wanted to put that out there. Just, you know, so you… know.” He looked up at Donnelly, clearly anxious about his reaction.
“Please tell Ankur I am very flattered, and still very taken. But he is welcome to spend the night in the suite, of course. I promise I won’t spy on you again.”
“Is it okay if I don’t tell him that? It really seems to excite him to think you might be watching.”
“You do whatever you want to, buddy. Though I kind of worry about either of you getting more excited than you seemed to be this morning on the balcony. He seemed pretty zen about it, but you—I’m not sure you could take it.”
“I think you’d be surprised what I can take,” Sandler said.
Donnelly stood. “I’m just going to leave that little double entendre on the table and head up to bed. I’ll see you in the morning, sir.”
“You shall. And I promise to be in a less compromising position when you do.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like nearly as much fun,” Donnelly replied with a wink. He turned and headed out of the bar.
Chapter Eight
Thursday
Morning, Paris
THE GOLDEN light of another Paris dawn broke into the room, awakening Brandt irreversibly. He scanned the sky for a moment, trying to judge the time, then turned his head toward the clock mounted on the wall opposite. To his surprise, he found Kerry looking back at him, wide-awake.
“Morning, chief,” she said brightly.
“Good morning.” He blinked a couple of times, adjusting to having a conversation in bed with someone other than Donnelly. “Been up long?”
“Not long,” she replied. “There’s such promise in a sky like that, don’t you think? It’s all golden and full of possibilities.”
He turned to look at the sky again. The pinks of dawn were fading into gold, and would soon give way to the bright light of a blue sky over the city. He turned back. “It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. What are we going to do with it?”
“First I will slip daintily out of bed, so you don’t have to get up first and risk showing off the boner that waking up next to me no doubt has inspired. Though I would naturally consider it a compliment, I imagine you’d rather avoid the entire spectacle.”
“Now you really are being ridiculous.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me you do not, in fact, have an erection?”
He laughed. “Hell yeah, I have an erection. But it wasn’t waking up next to you that did it. It’s just habit, since I normally wake up with it wedged between the loving buttcheeks of my darling Gabriel.”
She grinned. “Good for you. But I will still take the high road and get up first. I’ll be in the bathroom for a half hour, so you may deal with that buttcheek boner however you see fit.” She launched herself energetically out of bed and walked to the bathroom, her oversized T-shirt flowing behind her. “Wasn’t me that did it… as if,” she muttered sarcastically and cast him a theatrically offended look as she disappeared into the
bathroom, cackling, and shut the door behind her.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, unsure whether to ask the heavens whether he had been cursed or blessed by her appearance in his life. What he was sure of, however, was the ponderous heaviness in his groin as his erection rubbed against the silky sheets.
A half hour, she said? Hmmm.
Brandt had always viewed jerking off in much the same way a race-car driver might view changing his own oil—a necessary job when there’s no one else to take care of it, but not the primary reason to own a race car. But this morning, lying in a bed in Paris, alone for the first time in a long while, he decided to take his race car out for a spin. Reaching under the covers, he wrapped his hand around his achingly stiff cock and then squeezed the flared head, just the way Donnelly loved to do first thing in the morning. He closed his eyes and pictured him there in bed, heat rising from his naked body, a wicked smile on his handsome face as he tweaked and squeezed the head of Brandt’s erection.
Fuck. Gabriel, why aren’t you here with me?
There was something Brandt shared with very few people in the world: he had been paid thousands of dollars to do exactly what he was doing now, but on camera. In the aftermath of that undercover assignment, he was unable to touch himself in that way and feel anything other than a rush of shame and regret. Thankfully, it was also during that time that Donnelly became his lover, not just his best friend and partner. Donnelly’s perpetual randiness meant that Brandt had little occasion for this kind of self-indulgence, and so over the last three years, he had taken matters into his own hands only a very few times, and most of those times were with Donnelly right next to him, watching with a greedy intensity as Brandt brought himself to climax.
Brandt’s cock surged at the memory of Donnelly’s wide, delighted eyes roaming up and down his body, taking in the exertions and tensions that accompanied the growing pleasure caused by his stroking. He spat into his hand, and the slickness with which it slid up and down caused him to moan softly and writhe on the soft sheets. He was hard, his stroke was sure, but he felt no orgasm building.