Semi Precious Weapons

by Clancy Nacht

  Semi Precious Weapons

  An erotic novella by

  Clancy Nacht

  This is an explicit and erotic novel

  intended for the enjoyment

  of adult readers. Please keep

  out of the hands of children.

  www.Phaze.com

  Semi Precious Weapons

  Copyright © 2011 by Clancy Nacht

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Edited by Holly D. Atkinson

  Cover Art © 2011 by

  First Edition May 2011

  ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-606-7

  Published by:

  Phaze Books

  An imprint of Mundania Press LLC

  6457 Glenway Ave., #109

  Cincinnati, OH 45211

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, Mundania Press LLC, 6457 Glenway Avenue, #109, Cincinnati, Ohio 45211, books@mundania.com.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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  "Who is that?" Chris eyed a sexy blond dancer. He hoped the man hadn't noticed the hard time he'd had ordering. The bartender seemed preternaturally aware that Chris wasn't from New York and had seen fit to make the transaction as embarrassing as possible, acting as if Chris spoke a foreign language. The fact he was only nineteen and still underage didn't make it any easier.

  Ten minutes earlier, his companion, Sebastian, had had a much easier time obtaining a drink. He'd sauntered within range of the bar, nodded to the bartender, and his vodka and tonic appeared on the counter. For Chris to live and work here, he would have to learn that trick.

  Turning to see whom Chris referred, Sebastian exhaled, seemingly very put upon. "Oh him? That's Jason. It's best to ignore him."

  Still staring, Chris sipped what tasted like weak tea. Being served swill like this proved everyone knew he'd transplanted from Texas. "He's kind of hard to ignore."

  Jason was gorgeous. He stood at least six-foot five-inches in his glittery pointy-heeled boots. He'd knocked a go-go dancer out of his cage and taken over, busting moves that would make a professional stripper die of jealousy.

  "Is he a gymnast?"

  "No. But I'm sure he'd say he was in the Olympics if you asked him." Sebastian swigged the last of his cocktail and set down the glass, then turned and leaned against the bar.

  At the ripe old age of twenty-four, Sebastian was considered geriatric by their agency. With a dearth of bookings, the agency paid him a modest fee to introduce Chris to the right designers and otherwise show him the ropes.

  When asked, Sebastian claimed a desire to transition from the empty-headed world of modeling to the supposedly more satisfying vocation of acting. Even with his bronze skin, shoulder-length dark hair, and striking blue eyes, the best jobs Sebastian had managed were minor soap opera roles. Despite his oft-repeated mantra of, I need to move to L.A., Sebastian showed no signs of leaving New York City. From what Chris had learned, the man subsisted on mentoring new models and assisting with casting calls.

  Next to Sebastian, Chris felt mousy with his dime-a-dozen twink frame, wavy brown hair, and scruffy chin. Geek chic was in, which kept Chris booked. After that trend, he had no idea how to market himself.

  Jason's market, if he bothered with one, would be fabulousness. His blond hair was sleekly razor-cut and he wore eyeliner and bright red lipstick that brought his deep cupid's bow to the forefront. His leather boots were laced up to his knees, his leggings tucked into their tops. The collar of his gauzy white top fluttered as he dropped into the splits before an adoring crowd who tossed cash at his feet. Jason gave the money a contemptuous look and pushed it off the end of the stage before springing back up and kicking his leg so the thin heel of what looked like a very expensive boot tangled with the pole.

  Sebastian's voice broke into Chris's observations. "He's awful. Seriously. Do yourself a favor and forget you saw him."

  Chris couldn't tear his eyes away. "He's hard to forget."

  Sebastian made a face like he'd tasted something sour. "Not in a good way. Believe me."

  The statement roused Chris's curiosity. Despite what people in Texas thought about male models, he found it lonely being gay in his profession. Most of them were straight, and many were incredibly shrewd businessmen. For a computer science-major dropout, the whole scene of beautiful, smart, straight boys was intimidating.

  Sebastian gestured for Chris to follow him and then headed into the crowd. He pointed at a line of people studiously avoiding meeting anyone's eye, and said something. Chris caught the word "important." Or maybe Sebastian said "not important." As they neared the speakers, which blasted bass so heavily it felt like a defibrillator sparking on his chest. It became increasingly difficult to discern Sebastian's words.

  Chris nodded and smiled as if he understood. He hoped he didn’t agree to something he'd regret.

  As he shook hands with non-descript people, Sebastian mouthed the word “designer.” Chris smiled and carried on the polite pantomime conveying his pleasure at meeting them.

  This seemed par for the course. He wondered if anyone had real conversations in New York. But then, so many creative things happened here, someone had to be talking to someone somewhere. Just not in this club.

  When Chris's ice cubes ran dry, Sebastian provided him with a fresh drink. After a few burning sips of real scotch, Chris realized he didn't care for it. He'd thought ordering it would make him seem manly. Gagging, however, was not manly at all.

  He wasn't sure how long he'd been glad-handing the movers and shakers of the fashion world when he turned to find he'd been back to back with the infamous blond. Jason wore something completely different now: a hot pink satin bolero jacket with exaggerated puff sleeves and a collar that stood halfway up his scalp. From here, Chris could see the close cut up the back and a very unusual diagonal crop where his hair had been smoothed straight and hung over his ear.

  Chris consulted his glass, wondering how long Jason's quick-change had taken.

  Jason whirled to face him, staring Chris down, his eyes now rimmed with ornate flowers and swords trailing down his perfect, airbrushed cheeks.

  "Hold my purse."

  "What?" Without waiting for Chris to agree, Jason shoved the bejeweled pistol-shaped bag into his free hand. "But I…"

  Too late. Jason swirled away, squealing in delight and hugging one of the designers Chris had met two minutes earlier. The designer seemed wary at first but didn't protest. Whatever Jason said with his extravagant gestures hit the right note. Soon the designer smiled and nodded.

  Though Chris had met the indust
ry people present just moments before, it wasn't until they realized he was carrying Jason's purse that they truly noticed him. Some appeared jealous; some wore looks of pity. Sebastian pressed his lips together and shook his head.

  When Chris, still holding the purse, held up his hands, in a gesture of helplessness something in the bag knocked against the side.

  "That's a gun, I hope you know," Sebastian yelled even though he was close enough to Chris to be heard from a few feet away.

  "I see that."

  "No, I mean inside the purse. He carries a gun." Sebastian gave Jason a meaningful nod.

  What could Chris say to that? He'd grown up in Texas. A gun in someone's purse? Not unusual. Sneaking a gun into a club, however, was impressive.

  "Why does he carry a gun?"

  Sebastian gestured at Jason as if the answer was obvious.

  When they'd started this discussion, Jason had been out of earshot. Now he stood right there, watching them with a tight-lipped smile. The look was armed with full-power semi-automatic snark.

  "Sebastian!" Jason's overenthusiastic voice attracted attention from the crowd. "How are you and that tiny cock of yours? Did the surgery do anything for it? You know, I've heard a penis pump might work. I bet I could track one down for you, sweetie."

  The flashing lights of the club couldn't disguise Sebastian's furious flush. His fists balled at his sides. Without missing a beat, Jason ducked in and hugged him like a long-lost friend and didn't let go. Though it wasn't necessary, he shouted every word for the benefit of his audience.

  "Oh honey, I know you're getting older, but did you mean to put on those extra pounds?" Jason pulled back, holding his arms out as if he'd grabbed something huge. He puffed out his cheeks a moment and then exhaled with a kiss. "But never you mind, Sebby. I think all that blubber looks good on you. More to love!"

  Sebastian crossed his arms. He shook with restraint. "I hate you."

  Jason batted his lashes. "Hate you too, baby doll. Kiss, kiss."

  Sebastian narrowed his eyes, and his lips formed a hard, impenetrable line.

  Jason stretched his arm across Chris's shoulders and pulled him toward the exit. As they made their way to the door, Jason waved to people Chris assumed were his friends, saving a special, girly-sarcastic finger wiggle for Sebastian.

  Chris couldn't help but laugh. He should've felt sorry for Sebastian, but after a whole night of enduring his insufferable arrogance and ability to get anything he wanted, seeing him humiliated was satisfying.

  Chris had heard New Yorkers were more direct than Texans, but he hadn't yet seen a display that outrageous.

  Jason surveyed Chris from the side. The corners of his lush lips turned up, the smile reaching his eyes.

  "Liked that, did you?"

  Chris nodded.

  "Good. Because Sebastian's a jackass." When he looked away, Jason's smile turned to a sneer that he directed at everyone.

  Once they were outside, chill air hit Chris in the face, luxurious after the heat of the club. Light beamed from the streetlamps, but not enough to overpower the neon glare of competing advertisements. A line wound down the block, potential patrons stamping the ground like frustrated horses, blowing smoke into the air.

  Considering what had just transpired, Chris worried how he would get home.

  Jason snatched his purse back, popped open a latch that released a long gold chain, and slung it over his shoulder. While it was open, Chris saw that it held a cigarette case, a small make-up bag, and a .25 pistol. Jason retrieved a joint from the cigarette case.

  "You have a gun." Chris produced a lighter from his pocket and sparked it. He held it up, feeling suave like a film noir hero.

  The unlit spliff tilted up when Jason grinned.

  Delicately wrapping his gloved fingers around his joint to steady it into the flame, Jason inhaled deeply. Exhaling, he said, "They say diamonds are a girl's best friend, but clearly, they have never met with a brute in a dark alley while wearing platforms."

  Hard to argue with that logic. Besides, concealed weaponry wasn't unusual back home.

  The rancid herbal smell of cheap pot made Chris's head spin. When Jason offered the joint, Chris considered passing. In Austin, rich, homegrown pot was common. Chris hadn't ever bought from the street. A friend was always selling or willing to share. But he wasn't in Austin anymore. Gamely, he accepted the joint and inhaled. At least it would be a smoother way to mellow out than the scotch.

  He'd wondered if Jason's magnificence would fade once they were out of the club and under harsher lights. Instead, his angular face glowed and his sequined pants shimmered hypnotically.

  "So where are you staying?" Jason leaned in for a drag. "I do hope you're not stuck in that awful model warren they pass off as a co-op."

  Chris opened and closed his mouth, turning away in the hope Jason wouldn't see his blush.

  "All right, my place." Jason flagged a cab. A few passed with their lights on, but finally one stopped. He stood at the door expectantly until Chris opened it. Jason scooted in, leaving one leg along the back of the seat; the other dropped to the floor, forcing Chris to sit between his legs.

  "Ritz Carlton, Central."

  The hairy cab driver’s brows furrowed when he glanced at them in the rearview mirror, but he shrugged and put his car in gear.

  Chris spoiled for something to say. The longer they were silent, the more self-conscious he became about his accent and whether Jason thought he was a redneck. Desperate, he blurted out, "I hear that's a nice hotel."

  "Five-star, baby. Nothing but the best." Jason sparked up another joint. Chris caught his sidelong glance in the light of the flame.

  Instantly the cabbie barked in a thick accent, "You can't smoke in here!"

  Jason rolled down the window and squeezed his shoulders through to exhale. He wrapped his legs around Chris to keep him anchored. In panic that clinging to his legs would prove insufficient, Chris held Jason's corseted waist. Chris bit his bottom lip. He hadn't noticed the corset before. Now that his fingers explored the boning, he found it impossibly sexy.

  "Hey, you get back in here!" the cabbie yelled.

  "I'm smoking. You said I couldn't do that in there." Jason tightened his legs around Chris in reaction to his roaming hands.

  Reaching under Jason's satin jacket, Chris found his nipples bare and hard. He pinched them.

  Jason threw his head back outside of the cab and howled. "Awooo!"

  Chris wedged his fingers between the corset and Jason's skin and tugged. "I'll give you something to howl about. Get back in here."

  Dropping the roach, Jason slithered back inside the cab and wrapped around Chris so they were nose-to-nose. His breath smelled headily of pot and the vanilla of MAC lipstick. Chris grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him deeply, tasting traces of champagne.

  In the back of his mind, Chris could see Sebastian's flat-mouthed, disapproving face, but he didn't care. He'd never been this close to a creature of beauty or intrigue.

  The cabbie cleared his throat but otherwise ignored them, focusing intently on driving. Within minutes, they were at the Ritz. A doorman opened the cab and Chris stepped out, offering his hand to Jason. He could only imagine what he looked like given how Jason's lipstick smeared down his chin to his neck.

  After Jason stepped out, the bellboys stepped back, some looking annoyed and others with hungry expressions, measuring every inch of the willowy blond. Whatever Jason had, it either fascinated or repulsed the people around him. No middle ground.

  Jason had a beat to his stride. His long legs almost crossed, his well-heeled steps fell in a perfect line, and his hips swayed just above camp. He gave Chris his arm, and they walked in like a couple.

  Jason steered him to the elevators. Once their backs were to the lobby, he produced an enveloped room card, read the number and slipped it back into his pocket. The elevator doors dinged; a couple of surprised tourists stared wide-eyed at Jason, who responded with a hair flip. He punched t
he button and then pulled Chris close, kissing him again, holding the collar of his shirt.

  They tripped out of the elevator and then stumbled out. Jason dragged him by his shirt, stopping to reengage the kiss. They banged down the hall, kicking over room service trays.

  Jason pinned Chris to the wall next to the door and kissed him again as he expertly keyed open the lock. When the door opened, he pulled him into a suite elegantly appointed with a mahogany writing desk, a couple of overstuffed brocade lounging chairs, and a huge bed with enough pillows for a civilization.

  Chris eyed the bed longingly, but Jason pulled him into the bathroom as he shrugged out of his satin jacket. Beneath was a long-line peach leather corset laced tightly around his svelte torso.

  Jason splayed his fingers along the laces. "Gaultier."

  "That's nice. I want to see what's under it."

  "You know what's under it. We all look the same naked, don't we? Genetics make us troublingly the same, but fashion helps us express who we are."

  Chris wanted to point out most fashion was mass-produced, but then, he'd never seen anything like what Jason wore. "I like all of it."

  "Oh, good answer." Jason sat on the closed toilet, posture painfully straight as the corset wouldn't allow for anything else. He spread his long, spangled legs.

  Chris dropped to his knees. From this angle, he could see the details of Jason's white and silver leather knee-high boots: pointed toes, a silver-cap heel, and a flash of hot pink on the sole.

  Jason smiled. "They're McQueen."

  "Don't care." The sequins scraped Chris's palms as they skimmed Jason's inner thighs.

  Jason drew his leg back and tapped Chris's nose with the toe of his boot. "McQueen is the King. You must show him proper reverence. He's gone now. Who knows when we'll see that kind of genius again?"

  "I'm more interested in your genius." Chris's cock strained against his tight jeans. He quickly unbuttoned the fly, letting the loose fabric fall to his hips.

  "Mmm eager. I like that." Jason ruffled Chris's hair with a gloved hand and then pushed his face to his boot. "Reverence, my love. Kiss them."