by Zack
Gil came before Mike, but only by a second or two, and a double load of jizz shot deep into Dave’s asshole, so much at the same time that it squirted out between their jerking dicks. Gil was utterly lost in the sensation of their two cock heads rubbing, sliding, shooting against each other in the tight, clamping chute. The intense moment of release lasted for seconds.
Dave looked done in. His weight pinned shuddering Mike to the bed. Suddenly there was a dull twang from the bed’s innards and the mattress that had taken the brunt of the battering sagged noticeably.
Gil was the first to pull out with a squelch. He slumped heavily onto the other two. He heard Mike’s dick withdraw as slurpily from Dave’s ravaged ass.
“You’ve wrecked me, you lovely bastards.” Dave’s words issued from the sweaty valley between Mike’s trembling breasts.
Mike managed a breathless chortle. “I think we’ve wrecked more than you. I thought you said this bed would stand up to a real good hammering.”
They disengaged and rolled apart, still struggling for air, beginning to laugh with mutual enjoyment of the experience.
“Don’t worry. It’s under guarantee,” Dave said. “We always like to ensure our customers are completely satisfied.”
Gil was let go early, while Mike had to stay later for a production meeting. Fortunately, Gil managed to grab a lift with another technician who dropped him off at White City, from where he tubed it back to Swiss Cottage. He had only let himself into the apartment a few minutes when the doorbell sounded its harsh rattle.
“Hello!”
Gil smiled politely at the youngster standing on the doorstep with an expectant expression. Then his heart gave a jump. He was staring at a younger version of Mike; shorter hair, slightly different hazel eyes, a snubbier nose, but definitely a Mike-alike. A boy with exactly the same kind of confidence and self-possession as well. Gil didn’t know what to say.
“I’m William—Will—and I bet you’re Mike’s new flatmate.”
“Uh—”
The boy dodged past him into the hall. “We rhyme, don’t you think. Will and Gil. You are Gil?”
Gil closed the door behind him. “Yeah, yeah that’s me. You… you’re his brother?”
“That’s me.” Will gave a beaming smile that made Gil’s heart lurch again, it so reminded him of Mike’s.
“It’s just, I thought you were a schoolboy.”
“Well I am. I’m in my last year.”
“He said ‘little brother’. How old are you?”
Will turned and walked into the echoing sitting room—they hadn’t yet got that much furniture in there—as though he owned the place. “Seventeen… for another month,” he threw airily over his shoulder, and then in useful addition, “Mike’s the technical one, I’m the arty one.”
“Can I get you anything, a drink, a—”
“Fag?”
“Sorry?” Gil thought this directness was pushing it a bit far.
Will gave an apologetic laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot, you Americans think that means a queer, don’t you. In English—that’s the real English— fag is slang for cigarette.”
“Oh, of course it would be,” Gil threw back with a touch of exasperation. “You’re too young to smoke—”
“Oh bollocks. Come on. Where I’m at school, we all share a fa—a smoke now and then.”
“Well, I haven’t got any.”
“I bet Mike has, and I know where he would keep them.”
Will strode off into the kitchen area, and Gil reflected that he would know his way around, this was just a mirror image of his parents’ home after all. He heard the boy rummaging in some kitchen drawers, and then he reappeared with a lit cigarette.
“Does Mike know you…” He dipped his brow at the cigarette.
“It’ll be our secret,” Will came back smugly.
Gil gave in with a helpless tip of his shoulders and went to fetch an ashtray, helping himself to one of Mike’s stash as he did so. He felt he needed it, and took a deep drag. Nothing had prepared him for this encounter.
Will was dressed in a gray, worsted suit that looked fairly well worn, a white shirt with a navy blue-and-red diagonally striped tie, carelessly knotted under the collar, the top button undone. While Gil felt uncomfortably nervous, Will seemed entirely relaxed. His amused face hinted at something more superior than his brother’s amiability. He blew out a long stream of blue smoke through lips rounded into an O. His mouth was a bit fuller than Mike’s, Gil couldn’t help noticing.
“You’re at a, what is it, a boarding school?”
“Mmhmm. Boys’ boarding school—here we call it a public school, which I know is the opposite of what it means in America. Here, it’s dead exclusive and fee-paying. I’ve got a long weekend pass. Don’t have to go back for two days yet.”
“Do you get a private room?
“Lord no, not unless you’re a prefect, which I’m not. Too rebellious, they say. My boarding house has about forty of us split between eight dormitories.” He stubbed out the burning butt end in the ashtray.
“High jinks after lights out, huh?” Gil said in a poor attempt at a British accent. He gave up on his cigarette too.
Will gave him a coolly appraising look. “Depends what you mean,” he returned after a pause. Then: “Talking of beds, whose got the bigger bedroom?” He marched off into the L-shaped hallway, heading for the smaller of the two front rooms, calling out behind him, “At home mine’s the little one.”
Startled by the sudden movement, Gil followed helplessly to find Will glancing around the empty space.
“Oh,” was all Will said, then turned and pushed past Gil in the other direction. Gil retraced his steps and joined the boy in the large bedroom. He was staring in fascination down at the massive double bed. As Gil came in, the teen turned to him, a quiet smirk on his shiny face. “Ah…”
“We’re still furnishing…”
Gil’s stutter made Will smile. “You’re sharing.” He made the short utterance sound conspiratorial. Then he took pity. “It’s okay. I know about my brother, you know. He’s never been all that secretive… at least, not with me.” He moved closer to Gil and gazed into his face with an inscrutable expression. “I think he picked well… or maybe you did.”
“Er…” Gil began, but Will brushed it aside airily.
“All lads in a dorm… we kinda know about those sort of things…” He trailed off meaningfully. His frankly curious stare pushed Gil’s discomfort level to red-alert.
“Huh…”
“I like girls really, but you must know what it’s like with raging hormones and ready relief at hand. One slips occasionally.”
Gil remained dumbfounded, as much by the glib knowingness as the awkward proximity. Then Will made it worse. He reached out a slender hand, ran his index finger down the front of Gil’s T-shirt.
“I bet Mike wouldn’t mind if you and me… I could do with some tips from an older guy.”
At that, the spell broke. “I fuckin bet he would, kid. And enough of the ‘old’.” Gil took a firm hold of the pointing digit and squeezed, not too hard, pushing Will back as he did so. “You’re too young and besides, we hardly know each other.” Even to himself he sounded rather prim.
Will giggled, and somehow lost his aura of superiority, becoming more of a schoolboy. “All right, let’s wait until we know each other better.” And then he took Gil completely by surprise by slipping both arms around his waist and hugging tight, pressing the side of his head against Gil’s chest. He let go as quickly. “Right, I’d better be off. My mum’s waiting for me with a giant tea, no doubt. She thinks they don’t feed us at school, which isn’t true, but they do poison us. In any case, I’ve only got this term left. I stayed on an extra one after the summer e
xams to retake one for a higher grade.”
He walked toward the front door and let himself out. As Gil watched Will stroll down the short pathway to the street, the boy turned and gave a snappy little head salute. “Be seeing you.”
As he wondered whether it would be sensible to inform Mike of Will’s unexpected visit or wiser not to mention it, Mike solved the problem when he bounded in through the front door. Dropping his keys on the makeshift dining table, he grabbed Gil, planted a smacker on his lips, and began feverishly tearing at his clothes, while dragging Gil back through the door into the bedroom. They fell in a tangled jumble, Gil yanking at his lover’s jeans even as Mike ripped his down.
“I—” he gasped, “dropped in at home to pick up… mmm… a few things and… aaahh… snot-nose told me he dropped in on you… oooh, yesss, harder.”
“Shit, I love you, oh Mike, I love… euurrgh… what’re you doin? Oh, don’t stop…”
As sex went, it was fast, furious, and utterly satisfying. As Mike sagged back he asked, “Will wasn’t a nuisance, was he?”
“Um, no, not really. Seems like a nice kid.”
“Until you get to know him better.”
“Come on, you like your little brother, doncha? Though he ain’t as little as I think you made him sound.”
“As younger brothers go, he’s fine. Bit up himself at times. I blame that on the school—they teach ’em to be high’n’mighty. Did he come on to you?”
Gil spluttered with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment.
Mike punched him lightly on the arm and laughed outright. “Oh my god, he did! The forward little slut. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s always trying to snatch my boyfriends off me—”
“How many?”
“Wha—oh, not that question. Look, I started screwing around when I was fifteen, so I guess there’s been a few, not that I’d call more’n one or two boyfriends, in that sense. And none that I fell for head over heels like you. So, how about you?”
Gil frowned. “You know—none. You’re the first.”
“Ah yes, I bent a straight boy. Well this gay guy is starving. How about we go up the Finchley Road and grab a curry?”
The phone rang while they were getting ready to go out. Mike whooped as he dove on the bulky instrument. “Wow, they’ve finally connected us!”
Gil heard him going, “Yup, yep, yeah, okay, see you there.”
After finishing the call, Mike explained. “That was Rod. He got the new number off my mother. He says, if we want to go, there’s a rehearsal of the gladiatorial fight at Paradise for an hour before the club opens at ten-thirty. Might be worth a look in.”
An Indian curry was a new experience for Gil, for there were few, if any, such establishments where he lived in L.A. Bewildered by the vast menu listing, he let Mike order for them and they piled hungrily through several weird and wonderfully spicy dishes. Then it was back down the hill to Aberdare Gardens to pick up Horny before setting off into town. Mike found a space in a tiny lane at the back of one of the big movie theaters in Leicester Square and they were let into the oddly quiet, echoing club just before nine-fifteen.
Since their last visit, a large contraption constructed from builders’ scaffolding had been raised on a chest-high wooden platform against one wall of the cavernous dance area. The iron cage was only about ten feet deep, but stretched along the wall for some twenty-five. A single scaffold gate let into its nearest short side.
Gil thought it eerie to see the place devoid of clubbers. Here and there someone flitted to and fro on Paradise business, setting up for the coming night. Rod stood at the foot of the cage talking to an older man, lean and fit looking. With them were two young guys in the prime of their muscle-bound youth.
“Shit,” Gil whispered to Mike as they made their way across the dance floor. “The white one would make three of me.”
“The other’s not exactly slight, either, Mike commented admiringly, taking in the glistening ebony muscles. “Hmm, should make for an interesting fight scene.”
“There you are,” Rod greeted them, smiling as he added, “On time too, for a change.” He introduced them first to the fight director. “Jerry—Mike and Gil. They have offered to help me out with the filming.”
Jerry gave a curt nod and shook their hands. “And this is Pete and Winston,” he snapped out. “We haven’t decided who’s going to get his head chopped off at the end of the fight yet.”
The two man-mountains nodded affably at Mike and Gil, and then engaged each other in a mock struggle for their heads.
“Okay, okay, guys, let’s get this rehearsal on the go,” Jerry said to the fighters. “Just remember all the moves we’ve practiced at home. Now’s the time to fit them to the constraints of the cage. And don’t forget, you’re here to give the screaming queens a spectacle they’ll remember for the rest of their squeamish little lives.”
Rod took Gil and Mike aside. “This will give us a chance to check out some angles, but you know this space in front of the cage is going to be jam-packed. Moving about won’t be easy. The management says we’ll be provided with walkie-talkies to keep in contact, but I wouldn’t mind betting they won’t work well in here.”
Gil looked around. “Where am I going to change the film magazine, or have you got several pre-loaded?”
“Fraid not, just the one. The budget wouldn’t stretch to hiring more. There’s an office down the management corridor. I’ll show you later.” He held his arms wide. “Though Christ knows how long it’ll take you to get back there and then out here again when it’s swarming.”
“Hmm, that’s what I was wondering.”
An appalling clanging from within the cage interrupted their discussion. The two gladiators took alternate swings at each other with what looked like very real short swords. For minutes the three movie-makers watched the ebb and flow of the battle, while Jerry called out instructions, imprecations, and expletives with every wrong-footed move.
“Wow, it’s gonna look real good,” Gil commented as Rod began moving around the dance floor, crouching here and there, his fingers squared into an imaginary camera peering in through the wide gaps of the cage above.
Just then the club’s tall, gaunt manager Damien Foot joined them. “Hi guys,” he announced himself with what sounded to Gil like a Canadian accent. He pointed down the length of the dance floor. At the end Gil saw a stage which had been invisible to him when Paradise was full. “That’s where the guys from the magazine who are helping promote this Roman night are going to build a giant temple out of those cardboard boxes they pack televisions in. God knows how it’s going to work, but they’ve promised me that it will collapse on cue, when Samson pulls out the center columns.”
Gil frowned in faint puzzlement. “I’m not great on the classics, but what’s Samson got to do with ancient Rome?”
Damien gave him a what-do-I-know look. “Do I care—as long as none of my customers gets crushed in the rubble.”
“Yaarrggh!” Thunk.
That was Jerry simulating the falling head. “They’re getting the props department to make up a blood-soaked decapitated head for the night,” he explained.
“Cool,” said Mike.
CHAPTER SIX
Disco Inferno
Gil was nervous about the job he was given at Pinewood a few days later. The second assistant director, after checking brusquely with Mike, told him to report to the cutting rooms above De Lane Lea in Dean Street next morning to pick up a rough cut of some special effects footage as soon as the editor had finished and bring the cans back in a taxi to Pinewood for the director. It wasn’t so much that he would be out of Mike’s company—he only managed a few stolen moments with Mike on the busy set—as that he would be in close proximity to Trevor.
Of course,
he would have no reason to drop in on him, but something lurking deep inside kept prompting him that he probably would.
As it turned out, the editor wasn’t ready because several feet of optical process work hadn’t come back from the lab yet. Gil sat in a corner of the cutting room, trying to keep out of the assistant editor’s way. He was checking sequences on an ancient looking Motorola viewer that ran 35-mm film on one side and magnetic sound film on the other, from one cotton bag to another. It worked with a staccato frapping noise that sounded positively destructive. The editor, seated at a large Steenbeck flat table, ran film and two sound tracks reel-to-reel in a far more orderly manner.
When the phone rang, the assistant, a pleasant enough lad with a shock of lank hair hanging in his eyes, answered. Then he put the receiver down and called out, “Humphries. The opticals are ready. Do we want to pick ’em up now or wait for one of their runners?”
Fed up of sitting on his backside, Gil offered, “Could I do it?”
The editor glanced up. “Yes, thanks, if you like. It’s not far. Do you know where the lab is?”
Gil shook his head.
“I’ll show you.” The assistant replaced the phone and grabbed a pad. He made a quick sketch map. “Just around the corner, really.”
Gil had no trouble finding the gloomy, bleak building on the edge of Soho, and by the time he got back, it was almost half-past twelve. The editor reckoned he would have the stuff ready for Gil between two and three. “I’d hop off and get yourself some lunch, son. Come back about two-thirty. We’ll ring for a cab to get you back to Pinewood then.”
And so Gil found himself out on Dean Street. Next door to the one that led up to Rex Sound Facilities. Not that I’m going in there, though.
It was cool in the stairwell as he slowly mounted the stone steps. And then there was the open door. It sounded quiet. He stepped to the threshold and cautiously peered in. Too late to pull back. Trevor was bent over some paperwork on the other side of the reception desk. He looked up instantly. Gil froze. Trevor rewarded him with the faintest of his feline smiles.