by Zack
“And then the guy starts fondling my dick through my trousers while never slowing down in his sucking. His mouth’s making a lot of slurpy noises on Simon’s dick, which gets me so horny I think I’m going to come and have to fight like mad to keep in control. I want my tenner. I feel the guy’s hands trying to unzip my fly and do it for him. His hand dives inside the gap like a busy animal burrowing, and in a flash he has me out. The cool of the evening air is amazing and the grip of his fingers is burning hot. If I glance down I can see the white rod of Simon’s dick pushing in between the extended lips, which seem to grip as the man pulls slightly back. Simon is only touching the wall with the back of his head, the rest of is torso is jacked out like a wooden board. He murmurs, ‘Oh, harder …’ and then a moment later, hoarsely, ‘I’m coming, oh, I’m coming …’ and the man goes right down on him until I can’t see any cock at all, and I imagine Simon’s spunk shooting from the end of his cock into that guy’s mouth, and presumably, down his throat because I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing with his swallows. Simon looses a gusty sigh of pleasure, and collapses back against the wall.”
Gil was fixated, and aware of his own painful erection.
“Then it’s my turn. The guy just shuffles slightly, turns his head a degree and slips his slicked lips around my cock. I think he’s mumbling something around it, but I can’t hear, and I’m not interested, so lost in the amazing feeling a warm mouth doing me like I’ve never been done. And the trouble is I’m already so high on the sex with Simon that I know I won’t last long. I hope they guy doesn’t mind a short suck cos a few seconds into it my knees are trembling so much and my balls hurt and my cock feels huge and I have to let fly. I’m sure I’ve never shot my bolt so hard before, not even when someone else’s hand got me off instead of my own. The guy gulps down my stuff eagerly and continues sucking more gently to finish me off nicely. The sharp smell of Simon’s cigarette brings me around to where I am. Somewhere on the edge of a darkening Heath.
“The man gets to his feet, mumbles some brief thanks, and hands something to Simon, who’s fastening the top button on his trousers and tightening the belt. I get an amiable pat on the shoulder, and the man’s off, at a fast pace down toward the Heath. ‘There you go,’ Simon breaks the silence and hands me ten pounds. ‘Pretty easy money, isn’t it?’ I haven’t got my head clear enough to think about anything. Is it just the money? And then Simon answers my unasked question … ‘And … sorta fun, huh?’ I look at him properly for the first time. ‘You enjoy it?’ It’s a stupid question, I know, but I want him to say it, straight-laced Simon of the surprisingly big cock. He shrugs. ‘Didn’t you?’ ”
“Of course you did,” Gil said.
“Actually, I laughed quietly and felt so guilty that I didn’t—couldn’t answer him truthfully.” Will sighed and nodded his head gently in regret. Then he engaged Gil with a frank look. “You know what it was? I was frightened Simon would want to have sex with me, and while I liked him as a friend, acquaintance really, I wasn’t into him that way. Besides, I had a meet set up with this bint from the girl’s school just down Highgate Hill, and I was hoping for a proper shag, my first, so the thought of a bout of queer sex didn’t appeal. So, there.”
Gil gave a sharp snort of amusement. “Right. Mister Very Straight.”
Will stood quickly and took Gil by surprise. He circled the table and threw his arms around Gil’s neck. “I’ll bet that gossip-mouth brother of mine told you I sucked off my best mate, Ben. Not at school,” he added hurriedly, as though it would have carried a taint of shame had he done so. “That happened much later, here—actually, over there on the sofa, while watching that pervy film you and Mike made about the boxers.”
Gil tried to wriggle free, but the boy’s strength was sufficient to hold him trapped in his seat. The blast of warm breath in his ear disoriented him, and a second later Will’s right hand had his hard-on firmly gripped. “And that’s what I want to do to you, Gil. Do say you’ll let me.”
“I … I can’t, Will. It feels like incest or something.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“You’re brothers.”
“You mean you’d want sex with me if I wasn’t Mike’s brother?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“No. And you didn’t not say it, either. I say I want to blow you and you say no, because it feels like incest, not because of any other reason. Ergo, you do want to have it off with me … except for what Mike might think.”
“Fuckssake!”
Gil thrust upward strongly, whipped around from under Will’s octopus grasp, and turned the tables on the boy.
“Hey!”
“This way.” Gil frog-marched Will through the door, across the corner of the hallway, and flung him down hard on the big double bed. He followed down to pin Will’s arms, but then grabbed him and rolled them both over so Will ended up lying full length on Gil. He was grinning. Gil stared back defiantly. “Okay. You got me. Here I am. Now suck me off, and be quick about it.” He pushed slightly up the bed and placed his hands under his head in a relaxed pose.
Will laughed with glee. His hands flew: he ripped Gil’s jeans open, yanked his briefs down, and gasped. “Jeez but you’re big … not so thick, but long.”
“Bigger than your friend Ben?”
“Ooh yesss.” Will ducked his head and his forelocks tickled Gil’s bared tummy, and then the boy set his tongue to work, and seconds later, impatient, swallowed Gil’s cock head whole. Gil luxuriated in the sensation of a wet, warm mouth falling in a tight ring down the length of his erection. Yes, there was guilt. He still felt it was wrong somehow to have sex with Mike’s young brother, and besides he was jailbait at almost nineteen—at least, here in England. But then, there was that wonderful feeling Will was giving him with his clever tongue and lips, mashing the sensitive parts of the erection against his ribbed upper palate, squishing it on the inside of his cheeks, gulping it with big swallows.
The kid was bouncing up and down on him so fast Gil came to a climax before he knew it. Will fell right down to clamp the base of his cock hard with his lips and swallowed deeply in perfect time with each of Gil’s spurts. Agony and ecstasy, fulfilment and release.
Will reared up, cum dripping from his lower lip, an expression of triumph on his little round face. “Fuck! Like a bloody fountain, man. Jeez, you hosed me.”
Gil swallowed, in his case the saliva that threatened to choke him after holding his breath. “Phew, it’s what you wanted, no?”
The boy’s voice was muffled by the hand he wiped across his mouth. “Mm-hmm. I can see what Mike sees in you.”
Moved by the unusual experience, Gil pushed himself upright on the bed and impulsively moved to kiss Will. But he jerked back. “Hey, hey. No kissing. We just had some sex, no need to get all lovey dovey.”
“Sorry!” Gil failed to keep the edge of irritation and hurt from his tone. “Remind me next time you try coming on to me to turn you down.”
Will leaped off the bed with a light bound and bobbed up and down on his toes. “Don’t worry, Gil. Now I’ve had you, that’s fine. Once is all I wanted. Be seeing you.”
And with that, he sloped off out the door. A moment later Gil heard the front door open and close behind the boy. Great. Now he not only felt guilty but used and dirty.
CHAPTER NINE
Falling Over the Cliffe
Nathan Cliffe was a self-centered prick, stuffed with his own importance. It bothered Mike, Nathan’s obsession with movie history, probably because he sensed it was a put-on. Barely a day went by without his boasting of the Oscar he would win for his performance in Terry Blood and the Vampire’s Rubies, which would put him up there with the other honored juvenile leads. And, to Mike’s surprise, he could damn well name them all, those obscure faces of the past—Shirley Temple, Deanna Durbin, Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland, Margaret O’Brien … oh God, he’d go on and on, right through to Hayley Mills, when the Academy Juvenile Award was dropped in
, when did Nathan say? 1961. There were moments when Mike thought Nathan much older than his years, but only moments—rest of the time he was simply a childish ruined-rotten brat. And Mike did know one fact about the so-called Junior Oscars to pitch the wind from the brat’s sails. “You wouldn’t have been eligible.”
“What?”
“You’re too old already, those kiddy Oscars went to actors under eighteen. You’re three months over the hill, buddy.”
It was a hollow victory. Nathan had the resilience of self-confidence and a conviction in his own greatness. He had been spoiled by the legions of adoring fans who would happily expend hours in discussion over whether his natural blond or the Terry Blood black he now had to wear was the sexiest. The kid was made impossible by his celebrity, demanding and insistent on getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. Mike was probably the first guy to turn him down. But, truth to tell, Nathan got to him … somewhere between his belly button and a good foot above the knee. In part, Mike couldn’t help but feel the boy must have some good in him, some part of his soul his egregious parents hadn’t yet sucked out in their search for ever more filial celebrity, fame, and money. And stupid as it might seem, Nathan awoke Mike’s nurturing gene, although any sense of caring usually crashed on the rocks of the boy’s raw attitude. Sweetness and light to the fans, raging hormonal chaos behind closed doors.
Nurture glowed warmly for seconds at a time. Lust soon subsumed it. Face up to it Smith, you want to fuck that boy something bad. He deserves it, and there’s no doubting that’s what he really wants, too. What would Gil do in the circumstances? Play the good guy, or do the dirty? Mike thought long about it as he zoomed around the stage on various tasks as the morning progressed and take after take went in the can. Nathan Cliffe was on form, whatever crap he’d given Mike earlier. The lad playing Jason Argonauticus was clearly swept away with Nathan’s example and, for once, Wolfgang Henze had only praise for everybody. Even the tricky “first kiss” scene between Terry and Chloe Chtulluhu needed only three takes. Nathan ruined the first two by showing off how he could throat choke Chryselle with his overlong gustatory appendage. Mike knew that a script change which turned a longing look into a full-blown “French froat fuck” had angered Nathan and it was a bit of business he had not been looking forward to since he’d read the last-minute revision.
“Just wait till you get a feel-up from that …” Hmmm, I know where that tongue would feel good. So, what would Gil do?
No, Gil, he knew, would go with his instincts, as he always did. Not that Gil didn’t think things through, but he never let intellect derail the natural order of things. The problem was simple: in this case, what would Gil’s instincts dictate?
Don Waverley bellowed over the loud ambient noise of the huge sound stage, and with a start, Mike saw it had gone one-thirty. “Just a half hour for those required on D-stage for the Fangball game crowd and set-up scenes.” Groans met the announcement, but for Mike it meant a longer break. Nathan wasn’t required for the stupid game scenes until tomorrow, and a lot of that was outdoors against the massive blue-screen diorama. Henze wanted an icy-cold scene, and according to the Met office they wouldn’t have to fake the players’ steaming breaths in post-production. Bruce would be filling in for him over on D-stage. Mike’s role now was to keep the brat cool in case Henze should change his mind and want him pulled in for a quick close up or reaction shot.
Mike watched Nathan warily. The actor casually slouched between the strands of fake foliage which dangled from overhead frames ready for the camera to peer through. He made his way toward where Mike waited at the edge of the sound stage. Mike did not like the predatory set of Nathan’s face—the twitched up corner of his lip on the left, one eye open the other squinting slightly, as though assessing the quarry’s propensity for flight. He thought of Gil, at home, safely tucked up in Aberdare Gardens with his script, writing. What would Gil do?
As Nathan approached Mike, he started to sing—that song again: “Little girls were made to squeeze, little boys were meant to squeeze ’em. Little girls were made to please, little boys were made to please ’em.”
He pushed right up threateningly into Mike’s personal space. A light smile played on his singing lips. “Darlin’ I love you so, more than you’ll ever know. Some day I’ll make you mine, you make me feel so fine …”
One of the sparks on his way off the stage licked a finger and wiped it over his eyebrow in a camp gesture and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Mike. Mike scowled darkly and lifted his middle finger in reply.
“You going to help me get this crap off my face?” Nathan said, suddenly petulant.
“I’ll get hold of Steph. I checked the cross-plot in production and there’s a chance you might be needed. She’ll know what to clean off—”
“I don’t want Steph! If I wanted Steph the Dyke, I’d ask for her!”
Mike breathed in deeply and let the air out with an audible whoosh. He turned on his heel and strode off to the exit in the wake of the sniggering electrician. Outside he headed for the Green Room. Nathan quickly caught up and tucked his hand under Mike’s arm. “You’re cute when you’re angry. Do you know that?”
“And you’re too bloody young to come out with camp Hollywood crap like that. And Steph, by the way, is married with two kids.”
“So what. That long-haired twat on Top of the Pops is a holier-than-thou, do-goody national hero, who just happens to bonk little girl groupies when he thinks no one’s looking.”
“You’d know,” Mike said as he shook Nathan’s hand off and upped his pace, though to no great advantage. Nathan just draped it around his shoulder and speeded up too.
“Course I would. I’ve seen him at it. He just winked at me, you know, like a conspiracy I was part of.”
“And were you?” Mike said spitefully.
Nathan patted his chest in mock horror. “Moi? Mais, non, non.”
“Takes one to know one, then.”
“What?”
“People who take advantage.”
“Hah! Who’s the youngster in this relationship?”
Mike swallowed the irony of being the older … by barely three years. “One: there is no relationship here. Two: who says older guys can’t be seduced?”
“I knew you wanted me—”
“I never said anything,” Mike protested. They reached the block and he thrust through the swing doors and virtually shoved Nathan across the threshold of the starling’s suite.
Oh, fuck, Gil. What do I do?
Nathan strode purposefully to the make-up desk, grabbed a handful of tissues, and before Mike could say a word, wiped at the lipstick and face pancake. He held up the screw of paper and then threw it in the trash with some disgust.
Mike couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “You know that stuff doesn’t come off easily—”
“Not as easily as me, that’s for sure.”
“Here.” He walked up, pushed Nathan down gently into the comfortable chair, and rocked it back so the top of Nathan’s head rested against his abdomen. He took a can of cleanser and sprayed some on clean tissue. The streaked mess Nathan left behind came away under Mike’s ministrations. He took particular care around the boy’s eyes. Damned golden eyes, staring up, pulling him in, knowing and wanting. Laughing? He leaned farther over the supine actor to wipe under his upturned chin. Nathan raised both arms back under his head over the back of the chair and cupped Mike’s balls. He squeezed gently.
“They’re big.” There was wonder in the voice.
“Don’t.” But Mike didn’t move, just carried on cleaning the last of the make-up, hoping that Steph wouldn’t kill him if there was a call for Nathan. “You’ll give me a hard-on.”
“Mmm, hope so. Oh … there we go.”
Mike glanced up and saw his reflection in the massive mirror, brightly illuminated from the surrounding lights, bent over Nathan’s perspective-foreshortened body, the boy’s head almost out of sight in his prone position, tucked under t
he bulk of Mike’s midriff. He edged up on his toes and pressed his crotch down hard on Nathan’s face while at the same time sliding his hands down the length of the boy’s hard, gym-lean body. So stretched out, almost horizontal in the rocking chair, the waistband of the tight-fitting vampire college pants nevertheless arched up just enough for Mike to slide his hands under and over the top of the trapped and very hard cock beneath the silky briefs.
Nathan moaned. Mike felt the boy’s mouth working at his erection, using sharp teeth on the fabric of his jeans. He felt Nathan twist his head hard to the right to get a better position and then again the boy’s teeth clamped along the length of his cock as Mike strained hard down into the pressure. He was almost lifted off his feet by stretching out and down. He freed his hands from the waistband of Nathan’s pants and dragged the Eton-style shirt out the way. His smacked his lips down hard just above the boy’s navel.
Nathan gasped for breath, now deeply buried under Mike’s weight and the sound mutated rapidly to breathy moans when Mike extended every muscle in his body to reach down and flip the tip of Nathan’s cock up from the still-fastened trousers enough to get tips of tongue and cock together. At that point, there came a loud metallic snap. Their antics, it seemed, had strained the chair well beyond its limits and something vital gave way. One second, Mike just about had a taste of Nathan’s dick, the next he was on the floor, discovering that while hard-pile carpet might be easy to clean, it wasn’t designed for a body to roll on.