by Jay Lygon
I crept closer to the porch. “Is that where you met him, Sir?”
A smile twinkled in Hector’s eyes. He knew how much Ophir loved to cultivate an air of mystery. No one knew what country he was from or much about him. He was so at ease with his wealth that he seemed to come from money, and I knew that he and Hector owned several apartment buildings and commercial properties together, but I’d always assumed that Hector gave those things to him.
“I met Ophir in a leather club in Amsterdam right after he left the military.”
“Military? Of what country?” I asked.
“If you want to know, why don’t you ask Ophir?” Hector’s face danced with mirth and mischief. He knew how much Ophir intimidated and fascinated me.
Putting my hand on my hip, I lifted my chin. “Maybe I will. Who knows? Maybe we can bond over Hector stories and become best friends forever.”
The smile faded from Hector’s face.
***
The second we got into our box seats at the soccer stadium, Joey whipped out a huge pair of binoculars and searched the players warming up down on the pitch. “Okay, which one is Beckham?” Even though Joey had let his hair go back to its original color, it was still messy and über fashionable. I guess as a graphics designer he needed to look cutting edge at all times. I kind of missed the neon purple spikes, though. His tight T-shirt rode up, showing off a red dragon tattoo that flicked a tongue of fire at his hip bone and wound around his slim waist. The tip of the dragon’s tail was a not-so-subtle arrow pointing down to Joey’s cute little butt. Once upon a time, I’d been slimmer than he was, and shorter. Now I towered over him, and his waist was an inch smaller than mine -- something he brought up all the time.
I went to the front of the box. It wasn’t glassed-in like the ones above us, so it wasn’t completely private, but we had three rows of comfortable chairs and a great view. Even back by the door, I could see the huge TV screen at the north end of the stadium. The grassy hillside was already packed with people, and the seats in the stadium were filling. The sun was still high, but would set near the end of the game.
Brett, Mr. Uptight Accountant Preppy Boy, tried to grab the binoculars from Joey. “He’s probably the one with Beckham across the back of his jersey, dumb shit.”
Joey jerked away. “I’m still looking. How is Becks doing his hair nowadays? If he shaved his head, I think I found him.”
“But they’re my binoculars!” Brett kept tugging.
“Tough shit, Brett.”
Ophir watched Joey and Brett shove back and forth with the blankest expression I’d ever seen on a person’s face. His mouth didn’t curl up in disdain or twitch into a smile. His brows didn’t furrow, and his eyes didn’t twinkle. Even his body language was mute.
Ophir’s Number One slave boy, Chris, looked at Ophir, turned to watch Brett and Joey, and then looked back over his shoulder at Ophir with big eyes, like a dog itching for permission to chase birds from the yard. I think he was horrified that my friends didn’t show any respect for his Master. Chris needed to get out of Ophir’s house more often if he thought the world gave a damn about proper respect. That’s what separated us boys from everyone else. We knew that there were some men who deserved to be worshipped and weren’t afraid to do it.
Hector took a seat near the door to the box. He was so used to Joey and Brett squabbling that he didn’t seem to notice it anymore.
“Found him!” Joey called out. “Oh, wait.”
“He’ll have on the captain’s armband,” I told them.
“Never mind Beckham. Hello, Baby.” Joey turned to me. “Did we get a program? Who’s the hottie in the black jersey down on the field?”
Ophir made a little sound of disdain.
Maybe mixing my friends and Hector’s wasn’t the best idea after all. They’d met many times before, but parties at our house weren’t the same as being stuck in an eight by ten room for almost two hours.
“The field is called a pitch in soccer. And the big guy in the black shirt is the goalie,” I told them.
“Do we get to see the locker room after the game?” Joey nodded, his eyes wide open as he willed me to say yes. “I’d scrub that guy’s back.”
“Only in your dreams,” Brett said.
Ophir took a seat in the front row. Knowing how he felt about slaves sitting on furniture, I was a little surprised to see Chris sit down, too. Maybe his rules were lifted out in public.
With Brett and Joey busy scoping out the beefcake on the field, there was only one front row seat left, and it was next to Ophir. That wouldn’t have been my first choice of places to sit, but I didn’t want to be in the other row, either. I put my hand on the back of the seat and made an apologetic little hand gesture.
“Sit, Sam. It’ll be fun to watch with a real fan,” Ophir said. He even smiled.
“Thank you, Sir.” I sat down.
Brett rolled his eyes, but managed to hold his tongue.
“So, Sam, Hector tells me you’re going to Venice this summer,” Ophir said.
That was the most Ophir had ever said to me. I was just a boy. Despite my sass earlier in the day, we weren’t equals and would never just chat, or at least I didn’t think so.
“The magazine is sending me to a bunch of film festivals this year. I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. It’s, like, the last weekend of August. From what I hear, it’s not actually in Venice. It’s on Lido, a nearby island. Hector is going with me.”
“In that case, since it’s your first time, stay in Venice and take the vaporetto over to Lido,” Ophir said.
“Vaporetto?”
“The water taxi. It takes a little over twenty minutes, but it’s worth it. Lido isn’t very interesting, but Venice…” Ophir smiled. “Venice can be quite romantic with the right man.”
I glanced back at Hector. Romantic? “It sounds like Hector’s kind of town.”
Ophir’s smile was almost mischievous as he leaned close to me and whispered. “Go for a gondola ride at night. Pick a gondolier who’s ‘family,’ tip him heavily, and he’ll make sure you don’t get interrupted.”
I grinned back. “Now, that’s the kind of romance I could go for.”
Ophir patted my knee and smiled warmly as he looked out at the game.
***
Maybe it was my fault for forgetting my place. Chris managed to watch the game and serve his Master at the same time. He was the perfect slave boy. He should have been my role model.
In my defense, Hector didn’t care for soccer and made it clear he was there just to indulge me. I thought that meant I was free to enjoy the evening. It was a great game. Even Joey and Brett got caught up in it. Ophir turned out to be a pretty nice guy, not scary at all. I thought I knew soccer, but he talked about it on a whole different level. He’d tap my shoulder and point out plays coming together. How he saw it, I never knew, but then things would suddenly happen the way he predicted they would. I was so absorbed listening to him talk that I sort of forgot about Hector.
By the time the sun set and the announcers were directing people where to look for the fireworks, it was already too late to make up for my mistake. I had no idea how much Hector drank during the game, but from the way his eyes narrowed down to slits, it was a lot. The set of his mouth was harsh. His hands sat in fists on his thighs, and his aura was almost black, with poisonous green swirling through it.
My stomach knotted up. I knew what those colors meant, but couldn’t figure out what had triggered it. Our beers and snacks were brought to us by a short, Latino girl, and I barely talked to her. I’d only left the box once during the game to piss, and came back right away. Hector hardly paid attention to Brett and Joey. I didn’t talk much with Chris. That only left one person. Hector didn’t think I’d been flirting with Ophir, did he? Not Ophir. He was Hector’s closet friend. It didn’t make sense.
Oh Gods, I wished I hadn’t eaten that huge plate of nachos.
Brett and Joey stared intently at the south end of the
stadium. Chris leaned forward, his chin on Ophir’s shoulder. Unnoticed by anyone except Ophir, I sank down onto my knees and crawled toward Hector, hoping a show of submission would ease the tension.
Not knowing what to say when I reached Hector, I tried to rest my forehead on the toe of his shoe. He moved it away. That close to him, I could feel his seething anger.
Patriotic music blared from speakers. I heard the pop of the first fireworks and the reaction of the crowd.
Hector rose unsteadily to his feet. “I brought you to this game as a reward, and this is how you act?”
“Sorry, Sir.” I whispered, hoping my quiet voice would convince him to lower his. I didn’t know what I had to apologize for, but I’d do anything to calm him down.
“Right in front of me. What are you trying to do? Talk Ophir into taking you in as one of his boys? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”
Seats creaked and feet shuffled behind me. I knew Brett, Joey, Ophir, and Chris had turned away from the fireworks to see what Hector was bellowing about. I cringed down further. People outside the box were beginning to listen in, too. I could feel their curiosity, disgust, and amusement.
“I’ve got news for you, Little Boy. You’re too old for Ophir. He likes them younger.”
That barb was lethal. Hector knew how nervous I was about looking my real age. I mean, twenty-six wasn’t old, but it sure wasn’t nineteen.
“How many times have I warned you that no one touches you? How many times? How many?”
Was I supposed to answer that? My tongue felt thick. If I tried to talk, I knew I’d stutter, and everyone would laugh at me. Shame burned in bright pink over my face and ears.
Someone stepped between us. “Stop it! Stop this right now, Hector.” For once, it wasn’t Brett taking on Hector. It was Ophir. “Sam wasn’t flirting, and you know it.”
I groaned. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t get involved. Please, Ophir. You’re only making it worse.
“Isn’t that romantic? Coming to his rescue, Ophir? What was it that seduced you? His big blue eyes? I’m warning you right now, he lies with those. Don’t be fooled. He’s just a lying whore.”
Ophir sucked in a breath between his teeth. “If you’re going to blame anyone, Hector, blame me. I know how possessive you are, but I touched him anyway. He didn’t do anything to encourage me.”
If there was a color darker than black, Hector’s aura went there. I shook.
“I won’t let you punish him for what I did,” Ophir said.
“It isn’t your place to tell me what to do with my slave, Boy.”
How could he talk like that to Ophir? Was Hector trying to humiliate him, too?
Ophir bent down and touched my back. “I think you better go home with your friends tonight, Sam.”
If I did that, it would convince Hector that Ophir and I had something between us. I just knew it would.
“Sam, do what this guy says,” Brett said.
Why was everyone looking at me? I wished we could phase home.
Hector raised his hands. “Fine, Ophir. You can have him.” He flung open the door and lurched out of it.
I jumped to my feet. He was going to leave me?
Brett grabbed my arm. “Don’t do it, Sam. He’s going to beat the shit out of you.”
Hector was walking away. I pushed Brett’s hands away.
“He’s going to kill you one of these days.”
Panic spread through my chest. It felt as if I’d lose Hector if I couldn’t see him.
“I don’t think Hector will hit him, Brett,” Ophir said. His face was drawn down, as if something pained him. “Please, Sam, go home with your friends. If you run after Hector, he’ll know he can get away with it.”
“You don’t understand,” I said, not sure who I was talking to. I ran after Hector.
***
Hector didn’t hit me. He didn’t yell. He didn’t clench his hands in and out of fists. He didn’t even make sudden moves that made me flinch. By the time we got to his truck, his rage was mostly gone. He was like that. Only I understood how he really was. Maybe Ophir did, too. Brett sure didn’t.
Hector didn’t open the door for me, but he didn’t stop me from getting into the truck with him. He didn’t say a word. It took a couple attempts for him to get the key into the ignition.
I chewed on my bottom lip. My Master was too drunk to drive. Did I dare say anything? Or should I pray for guidance from the Goddess of Traffic? No. Angelena would crucify Hector for driving drunk.
He released the emergency brake and turned the engine over.
Desperate, I pushed some of my power onto Hector, but instead of sex, I dosed it with sleep. His head lolled. I grabbed the steering wheel and phased us into the driveway back home. When I turned off the ignition, he was snoring behind the wheel.
***
By the time Hector woke the next morning, I’d already eaten breakfast, written a film review, and gone for my jog. He didn’t drink heavily very often, but when he did, breakfast had to be chilquilies with chorizo. He showered while I fried it up for him.
We didn’t talk when he stumbled into the kitchen. I put his plate in front of him and knelt at his feet while he ate, but didn’t rest my head on his thigh. He relaxed his knees while he read the paper. Grunting a bit, he scratched around his crotch. There was no way I could miss the view up the baggy leg of his shorts. When I didn’t react, he stroked himself until he was hard. All I had to do was lean forward and take his cock into my mouth. He was trying to tempt me with sex? Me? Hah! Well, okay, if I hadn’t been so pissed off at him, I would have gone for it.
He pretended to read for a while longer, but he watched me from the corner of his eye. If he wanted an excuse to make the tension my fault, he was looking at the wrong boy. One thing I’d learned serving him was how to keep my mind in a holding pattern so that emotions didn’t show on my face or in my posture.
After a while, he folded his paper and rose from the kitchen table. I got to my feet and took his plate to the sink. Tension itched between my shoulder blades. He walked out of the kitchen. I closed my eyes, took a calming breath, and concentrated on scrubbing the frying pan.
He got as far as the living room before he changed his mind and came back to the kitchen.
“More coffee, Sir?” I asked without turning around.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and nuzzled against my neck. “I didn’t hit you. I didn’t even think about it. You have to give me credit for that much, Sam.”
He was so sad that I almost felt sorry for him.
“I do, Hector.”
“I’m working on the jealousy, but it’s going to take time.”
I nodded.
“Thank you for the chiliquilies. They were good.”
“You’re welcome, Sir.” I reached for the dishrag to dry the frying pan.
“Don’t be cold, Baby. Don’t shut me out.” His lips pressed to that spot below my ear that usually made me melt.
It was a trap. If I said I was just doing my chores, it would sound as if I were sulking. But if I leaned into his chest, even the slightest bit, he’d think everything was fine and forgiven and he’d saunter off, confident that I’d let it go.
“You humiliated me, Sir.” My face went red at the memory. What had all those strangers thought of me?
His lips pulled away from my neck.
“I only have one hard limit. From the very beginning, the only thing I made you promise was that you never humiliate me in public.”
His hands slid up my arms.
My temper must have been on some sort of time delay, because the long slow burn flared up. I spun around. “Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again.” I met his gaze straight on.
Maybe he expected me to quake in the silence and rush in with apologies, but I didn’t. If anything, he was the one who seemed unnerved by the moments as they passed. He got sort of a sly look in his eye, and the barest hint of a smile crept over his mouth. Then he ope
ned his eyes wide, the picture of sincerity.
“You’re right, Baby.”
That wasn’t an apology, but that was as much as I’d ever get out of him. Was I willing to settle for that? I didn’t know.
He got that sly look again. He brought my hand to his lips. “Give me a chance.” He pressed closer. “My poor Boy.” He kissed my cheek as his hands slid down my arms. “Let me make it up to you. I know what you need, sweet Baby.” His voice dropped into a deep whisper as he got that urban accent working. “I can make you feel good. Would you like that?”
Sweet Baby. Hot Baby. Sexy Baby. Did he ever know how to wriggle past my defenses. And man, he knew exactly what buttons to push to get my engine revving. His hand caressed the nape of my neck, and he pulled me close for one of those long kisses that sent my senses reeling. Still, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to give in. My dick sure was. My brain wasn’t convinced.