Boys of Disco City

by Zack

  After a few seconds of this intense pleasure, Steve sank back on his haunches, wrapped his arms around Mike’s thighs and began licking at Mike’s cock, helping Gil pull it up into position. Steve parted his lips and slipped his mouth over it, clearly savoring the salacious flavor and the burning cock heat. Gil continued jerking it, producing even more lubrication in pearly drops from the flaring slit.

  “Cum to daddy,” Steve murmured, tonguing at the beads of Mike’s pre-cum “That’s it, baby, you cum to daddy. He’s waiting to take it… everythin you got.”

  Mike gave vent to a strangled heave. His body convulsed twice, then seemed to explode as a stream of pent up cum gushed from his jerking cock, across Steve’s tongue, coating it instantly in a white, frothing deluge. From his angle facing Steve, the sight of his lover discharging himself so violently brought Gil to orgasm as well. His relief spurted up between his heaving abdomen and Mike’s back as he continued rimming the last of Steve’s cum round and around his lover’s pulsing sphincter ring.

  “Phew!” Steve knelt back, taking over from Gil the task of gently wringing the last of Mike’s huge money shot so as Gil could finish coming in peace. Finally, Gil too straightened up on his haunches and let Mike’s insensible form slide sideways. One flying leg knocked the top of Steve’s head as he helped him collapse on his side. Mike’s ribs stood out as he labored for breath like a man almost drowned.

  They remained like that for minutes. In the silence Gil heard only the shrill hissing in his ears as the blood pounded around his system. Mike stayed lying down when first Steve, then Gil, struggled to their feet, grinning like schoolboys, and fell against each other in an unsteady sweaty embrace.

  “Blimey, but I enjoyed that,” Steve whispered.

  “Huh… can… can we just fuck next time?”

  Steve ran his tongue lightly around the inside of Gil’s ear, before saying, “Yeah, but don’t forget, next time it costs. This was a freebie for being so nice to me on the shoot.”

  “Were we?”

  “You din’t treat me like dirt, like Aiden does.”

  Gil gave Steve’s close-cropped head an affectionate rub. Steve threw a playful punch and then began dressing. “Where the hell’s me knickers got to? Oh, here they are. Christ, I’ll need a shower before I get to bed, or me missus will freak out.”

  Briefs were enough for Gil, who intended to fall into the bath again as soon as Steve had left. Mike remained slumped on the floor in what Gil hoped was contented exhaustion. He looked down fondly at the beautiful head, now plastered with unruly locks of black hair clinging in clumps.

  Steve gave Gil a friendly hip hug as he slipped past the part-opened front door, around which Gil leaned lest anyone passing by should see him apparently naked. Mike was sitting up on the floor when Gil returned from seeing Steve out. Gil went to him and hugged his shoulders. “You okay, buddy?”

  “I’m fine,” came the short response, accompanied by a slight shrug.

  Gil stood back, a bit hurt by the curtness. Post-coital ennui, he thought, although that wasn’t like Mike. “I’m gonna run the bath. Want to share?”

  Mike gave a quiet sigh. “No, I’ll just have a wash. That took it out of me. I need my bed.”

  My bed, not ours. The slip may have been unconscious, but it cut at Gil. He’s definitely whacked out, he concluded, and went out to the bathroom.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  …And Inside Out

  “Trevor… it’s Mike, Mike Smith… yeah, hi… look, can we meet?… I can’t say over the phone, but it’s really important… okay, I can make that. See you there.”

  Mike replaced the receiver and stood staring at it blindly, biting his lower lip. He walked across to the large French window and looked out over the patio and winter-desolate garden beyond. January fifth. He knew he couldn’t hold out on Rosen any longer. For about five minutes he gazed out at what so worried Gil over its maintenance, sick in the pit of his stomach at the thought that it would never be Gil’s problem.

  Then he shook himself into action. He scribbled out a quick note to let Gil know that he’d had to go into town suddenly and would see him later. Gil was up the Finchley Road at the Waitrose store getting in some stocks of food.

  Which he won’t be eating.

  Then he grabbed his jacket and keys, and went out into the chilly morning.

  He was seated at a table in the Nellie Dean an hour later when Trevor came through the street door. Mike nodded at him, and pushed a half of bitter he’d already bought for Trevor toward the empty chair next to his. Trevor sat down and gazed over at Mike expectantly. “What’s so important? Something to do with the boxing movie?”

  Mike shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Look, I don’t know where to begin… but…” he glanced away, unable to meet Trevor’s discomfiting gaze. “You’ve had a session or two with Gil, haven’t you?”

  Trevor stiffened slightly. His eyes never left Mike’s face.

  Mike glanced up and then away again. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Gil and I have been, well, okay with it on the side. I mean… What I mean is that you like Gil, don’t you?”

  Trevor realized Mike was appealing to him. “Er… yes. I like him,” he answered cautiously.

  “Did you ever say anything about us, I mean that we were sort of an item before you met, whatsisname?”

  “You mean Dave.” Trevor pursed his lips and shook his head slowly.

  “I need to ask you a favor, Trev. A really big favor.”

  And Mike spilled for half an hour: about how he had met Gil; how they had slowly gotten to know each other; how important the relationship had grown; how desperately he loved Gil. And about Rosen: how the American producer had gotten his claws into him; arranged his first big job in London and then later in Rome; how the bastard treated his “fuck-pieces” and his insane jealousy.

  And finally, the bust-up and Rosen’s appalling threat, backed up with evidence that he had poor stagehand Angelo murdered. As long as he lived, Mike thought he would never get out of his head the horror of his phone call to Sheila, the American production assistant in Rome who had come to London to help in the movie’s post-production stage.

  “Oh, it’s just such a shame,” she said. “The poor little kid. It happened not far from where he lived, I believe. He had just left home and was crossing a street nearby when this truck came tearing down and tossed him yards. The driver never stopped. They’re still looking for him, apparently. One of the other stagehands who saw it said Angelo was like a broken doll. He died in the ambulance.”

  The confirmation of Rosen’s boast hit hard. It made him feel sick to the core. The image of Angel’s perpetually impish expression had haunted him since Rosen had taunted him in New York, but what was worse was when it dissolved into his lover’s gorgeous, grinning face.

  “So you see, Trev, I’ve got to convince Gil to leave me, get away from England and back home, but he can’t know the real reason, otherwise he would be bound to do something stupid about it, like going to the police… with what kind of evidence? Or trying to confront the bastard. And if he does that… Rosen will have him killed. He really will.”

  Then he told Trevor what the favor was.

  Trevor sat dumbfounded, his cat-like calm for once shattered.

  “I can’t do that! Oh, Mike, really I couldn’t. I’d feel so awful, what it would do to him, can you imagine?”

  “But that’s the point.” Mike finally fixed his gaze on Trevor’s green eyes. “Just kindle the old flame for a few minutes. Please. It is for Gil, not for me.”

  Trevor thought for a minute, his face creased in a dark frown. “And how will you feel?”

  Mike’s face was a bleak mask, drained of his usual color. “Like filth. Like my life’s over. But I swear, I’ll sort it out one
day. I can’t bear the thought of Gil getting hurt, and he will be, I know, deeply, but at least he’ll still have his life to live.”

  Gil puzzled over why Mike wanted them to meet Trevor for a meal, but kept his own counsel. He was more concerned about the perceptible coolness that seemed to have sprung up so quickly. He wracked his brain endlessly to come up with what he might have said or done in the past few days to turn Mike off, but he couldn’t find anything obvious… unless this was about him and Trevor, but Mike knew all about that and it was an age ago.

  When they reached the Pizza Hut on Finchley Road, Trevor was already standing outside on the dark sidewalk amid the roar of the two-way traffic. They greeted each other perfunctorily and went in to find a table. Trevor slid onto a bench against the wall, and Mike squeezed in beside him, leaving Gil to take a chair opposite. That in itself hurt. He was used to the warmth of Mike’s thigh pressed against his. And something else disturbing. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but now looking across at Mike, he realized the small stud Mike always wore in his left earlobe was missing. He also sensed immediately Trevor’s barely disguised unease, and Mike seemed to be breathing rather raggedly.

  A youngish guy came up to take their orders with a distinctive Slavic accent. Gil was suddenly certain he couldn’t face eating anything, but ordered a simple margarita.

  Until the pizzas arrived, they made desultory and inconsequential conversation. Trevor fidgeted and became more agitated, a state Gil had never seen the boy exhibit before. Finally, Trevor threw down his knife and fork and turned to Mike. “Oh come on, Mike, let’s just get this out in the open.”

  Gil looked from Trevor to Mike, his light eyebrows lifting to meet the low fringe of blond hair over his forehead. “Mike…?” he began. He was unable to keep the concern and deep unease from showing on his face.

  Mike dropped his knife on the plate. He swallowed hard, and then raised his head, trying for a steely stare. “Look, Gil. I know this is going to be hard to take, but… it’s been great, you know, you’n’me… but, well, I’m not built to be with the same person for very long. I feel like a shit, but you have to know… me and Trev…”

  He trailed off to take Trevor’s hand and squeeze it. Trevor, who had been looking down at the table while Mike blurted out his statement, now looked up defiantly at Gil. An involuntary clench of his throat betrayed his nervousness, but he plowed on regardless. “I’m in love with Mike. I have been for ages, but I didn’t want to interfere when he came back from Rome with you. It’s not been fair. We were going to get together properly after Rome, and then you turned up. And he still loves me!”

  Gil froze. He had no feet, no stomach, but his arms and hands as they fell from the table felt as though they weighed a ton. He looked helplessly at Mike, unable to utter a word.

  “It’s true, Gil. You must’ve noticed, the past few days, I’ve been acting off key. Well it’s because I want to be with Trevor now—”

  “No… no, I don’t believe you… Mike?” He appealed with eyes opened wide.

  Mike swallowed hard. “Well you have to.” He raised his hand to grip Trevor’s as evidence of his words.

  Unsynchronized muscle contractions shook Gil. He stood suddenly, knocking his chair backward. His eyes watered painfully under fluttering lashes, shattering the image of the two seated opposite. “I… I’m going back to the apartment.” And with that he turned and fled.

  Mike saw his pale form glow briefly in the restaurant’s lights against the Finchley Road traffic as Gil rushed past the wide window and disappeared.

  Trevor slumped. “I’m going to be sick.”

  Mike stirred himself. He fished out some money and handed it to Trevor. “You can pay for us. I have to go and finish this.”

  Trevor glowered up, but spoke softly. “Then you’d better wipe your eyes before you get back there or it won’t be very convincing.”

  The flat was in darkness when Mike ran up, breathing hard as he tried to compose himself. At first he thought Gil hadn’t come back, but when he closed the front door behind him, he saw a glow of light coming from the kitchen.

  Gil was slumped on a chair over the small table under the corner window, his head buried in his arms. All Mike could see was a mop of fine blond hair brushing the cheap vinyl table cloth. The breath caught again in his throat, but he steeled himself.

  “Gil? Gil, are you okay?” Stupid question.

  Very slowly, Gil raised his head and stared up blearily. “What do you think? What the fuck do you think, huh?”

  “Gil—”

  “What happened, huh? What happened to the love? Where did the fun go? Do you have any fuckin idea how I feel about you, how much I adore you? Damn it! I was pretty happy before I met you and you turned me around. Then you turned me upside down and inside out and every which way!”

  “I’m sorry. Truly I am, but I can’t hide my feelings for… for Trev any longer.”

  “You bastard, didn’t I give you everything?”

  “Oh shit, Gil, please don’t cry. You’ll get over me, you will. A great looking guy like you won’t have any trouble bouncing back and finding someone more worthy of you than me.”

  Gil stared, lips parted, the skin around his lids smarting red, his normally bright gray eyes now turned muddy.

  “America’s a big place,” Mike struggled on. “Loads of guys who’ll fall for you. Maybe even a girl. And you have your Union ticket, and everything, so you’ll get a job quick.”

  Mike looked down and found himself counting the checks of the table cloth. He had never noticed before when they sat there over breakfast how the squares were arranged. He glanced over at the pile of groceries from Waitrose that Gil hadn’t put away yet. It was all so meaningless.

  “Gil, please try to understand. I mean, I really like you—”

  “Yes, but it’s not enough.” He sighed, shuddered, got wearily to his feet, and leaned his hands flat on the table top. “I’ll pack my things. Won’t take long. Not that much.”

  “Look, you don’t have to go tonight…”

  Gil glared up at him. “I can’t stop here, can I? No, I’ll get a room somewhere in town and then see about booking a flight home.”

  “Do you need any cash?”

  Gil gave a grim laugh. “No thanks. I have enough dough on me.”

  He brushed past Mike, through to the living room, and out into the hallway. Mike saw the bedroom light come on. He stood there as though rooted in the kitchen, fighting the tears that threatened. Every nerve in his body wanted to dash after the American boy, his ballin buddy, his beautiful, handsome, darling boy. But he stood there, feet glued to the spot in the kitchen. He knew with certainty that if he followed Gil to help him or anything, it would all unravel.

  Ten minutes later, the bedroom light flicked off and the hall light came on. Momentarily, Gil stood silhouetted in the living room doorway, his painfully familiar shape distorted by a back pack and the battered suitcase in his left hand. Mike gazed through the vast uncrossable dark gulf of the living room as Gil slowly lifted his right hand in a farewell. He heard the words, so softly spoken that he almost imagined they had never been uttered.

  “Goodbye, Mike. Be happy. Buddy.”

  * * *

  The following morning dawned with the sun in a cheery blue sky. Mike sat at the small kitchen table where he stared vacantly at the checkered cloth. He was counting the squares for the hundredth time when the doorbell rang. Scattered across the table were black and white photographs, production stills from Rome taken in a few precious snatched moments away from the set. He and Gil gurning for the camera; the two of them glowing in the sunshine, side by side trying to look sober and failing; Mike in the cuffed safari shorts, Gil in his ludicrously high cut-off denims, seated on a fallen Roman column in the back lot, heads leaned together; a clos
e up of their heads, black and blond, gazing into each other’s eyes, nose tips touching…

  The doorbell rang again.

  Feeling quite unequal to anything, he managed to drag himself to the hallway. The bell clamored for a third time. He opened the door.

  “Wotcha, Mike.”

  “William.”

  Mike turned, leaving his brother to close the door and follow him to the kitchen. He sagged again into the chair. Ridiculously, he imagined he could feel the heat of Gil’s butt radiating from the seat where he had been the night before. Will seated himself opposite and was about to say something when he obviously noticed his brother’s tear-streaked cheeks and the unhealthy pallor.

  “What’s with you?”

  “I might as well be dead, Will. I just lost the thing I’ve come to treasure most in my life, and all so’s some bastard can make what’s left in my life even worse.”

  He raised his eyes to see the astonishment in Will’s wide eyes. Mike had never cried in front of his brother, at least not since he was a little kid, and that was usually when he hadn’t gotten his way with something he wanted. But there it was—the flood gates opened and fat tears rolled down over Mike’s pale cheeks. And then the choking sobs began.

  * * *

  Gil slouched back in his seat as the TWA 747 lifted off the runway at Heathrow, not knowing how he was going to face the twelve-hour flight to LAX. The past two days had been like someone else’s dream, descending into nightmare. He had worn himself into an exhausted sleep in a cheap hotel bedroom, fretting at what more he could have done to please Mike, worrying at it like an aching tooth.

  Unable to eat the in-flight meal, he consoled himself with the headset, listening over and over again to Stephanie Mills singing Never Knew Love Like This Before on the pop channel.

  The flight got in just after four in a dusky afternoon. On the concourse he dropped some coins in a pay phone, heard the ring tone and the click as the other party picked up.