SATURDAY NIGHT AND SUNDAY MORNING
The 'Chris' in this story is based on Chris Trousdale as he appears in pictures on his Myspace page -- punkish, in scruffy jeans. But the story is purely fiction, and implies nothing about the real Chris Trousdale, his habits or his sexuality.
This is the last of four instalments. Comments are welcome, to antinous48@yahoo.co.nz. Thanks to the one reader who has commented so far. But I'm sure there must be other Nifty readers who dream of the seductively dangerous Chris T as their bodyguard and lover!
The door was locked behind us. Chris and I were in a dimly lit windowless room that was clearly used by members of 'the Organization' when they needed to spend the night in the warehouse. The sparse furnishings amounted to three wooden chairs, a folding card table, a double mattress on the floor with greyish sheets, a washbasin, a toilet and a shower. Then the door opened again and Cody poked his head round. He tossed in the shirt and T-shirt that Chris had taken off, and announced: 'I'll bring you guys breakfast at 9 in the morning. Have a nice night!' I expected a taunting leer, but his voice was neutral. Then the door was locked again.
We both surveyed the uninviting room. I looked at Chris, then looked away, not sure what to say. He broke the silence. 'Thanks, Nick, you saved my bacon. But you offered too big a price, huh? You can't mess up your banking career on my account!'
I turned and faced the battered, sweating, gorgeous hunk. He stood with feet slightly apart, exhausted, his arms hanging loose at his sides. A blue bruise on his chin and ugly red marks on his abs were visible signs of what he had just been through. He looked at me, head lowered, uncertain, almost apologetic. Suddenly I found the words ...
'Chris, you remember what you said to me about being a strong wall to protect me? Well, protection goes two ways. I couldn't watch it any more -- what they were doing to you. So I've bought us some time. But first things first. You need a shower, and so do I. Let's get in.' And silently I mouthed the word 'microphones', hoping that my face wasn't turned towards any hidden camera. Chris looked puzzled, then cottoned on. He grinned and mouthed 'OK'. We both stripped and stepped inside the shower cubicle.
Chris's naked body, at close quarters -- this wasn't the way I'd hoped to see it for the first time. But there were compensations. The smell of his sweat, the sight of his luxuriant pubic hair, his penis nuzzling close to mine, then the water running off both our bodies ...
'That's better, the running water should drown our voices,' I said quietly.
'Good thinking. But what about the rest of the night? Are we gonna just ... pretend?' There was a teasing, lopsided grin on Chris's face.'
'What do YOU think, Mr Bellocchio -- Mr Beautiful Eyes!' I replied.
Much happened that night. Suffice to say that the supervisor, listening or watching, would have known that he had a hold over me if Chris's wellbeing depended on my actions. But before Chris and I got out of the shower, we had devised a plan, too. When Cody brought our breakfast, Chris would show him a chance to get revenge on Miguel. First Cody would need to call the supervisor into the room. Then the supervisor would be forced to summon Miguel ...
At 9.30 the next morning, the trap was prepared. Cody had lured the supervisor in, and my job was to hold him secure. Cody stood beside us. Chris, hidden behind the door, was poised to numb Miguel with a karate chop, then immobilize him in a full nelson.
Miguel was speaking as walked through. 'OK, boss, so what ...' Then he stopped and and immediately swiveled his head to his left. Chris delivered the karate chop, but a fraction of a second too late. I ground my teeth -- the supervisor must have signaled with his eyes! The edge of Chris's hand, instead of landing squarely on the back of Miguel's neck, hit him on the shoulder. It took Miguel unawares and sent him stumbling, but he was far from dizzy. Chris managed to get his arms under Miguel's armpits, ready to clasp his hands behind Miguel's neck for the full nelson. But when Miguel began to fight back, only Chris's left arm had got properly into position. Their two right arms flailed and grappled for a second or two. Chris succeeded in trapping Miguel's upper arm in the crook of his right elbow, and was struggling to get his hands locked together behind Miguel's neck. But meanwhile Miguel with his right hand was trying to seize Chris's left forearm so as to pull it down and thus liberate his own left arm from Chris's control. To help keep his left arm in position, Chris had curled the fingers of his left hand around the back of Miguel's neck. But for how long could he maintain this hold, against Miguel's dangerous strength?
Sideways to them both, I got a view of them that is etched in my memory, even though what I was seeing lasted only a few seconds. I saw Miguel from his left side: his face a rigid mask, his body massive, the bulge of his pecs and rippling muscles of his flank showing clearly through his closefitting singlet. Behind him, Chris's left side, shirtless and smooth, his left elbow bent under Miguel's armpit, forcing Miguel's left arm up and so rendering it useless -- but only as long as he could maintain his precarious dominance. I could see the strain in Chris's face: his brow furrowed, his stubbly jaw clenched tight, his parted lips quivering. Veins snaking round his bicep and forearm showed how tautly the tanned skin was being stretched by the proud muscles beneath. The strength and fighting skills gained in nineteen years of growing up on tough Gotham City streets -- Chris was calling up all those resources in this desperate struggle. If there is any justice in the world, I thought, Chris must surely win! But then I looked across from Chris's body to Miguel's, and my heart sank. Chris's supple, shapely pecs and abs, whose feel under my caressing fingers I so vividly remembered -- could they stand up against the Miguel's physique? A glorious young man was pitting himself against a merciless more-than-human fighting machine!
Miguel's right hand seized Chris's left forearm and tugged. I saw Chris's arm jerk, but his elbow did not straighten. His biceps and forearm continued to squeeze Miguel's upper arm in a vice of bone and muscle. His hand did not budge from behind Miguel's neck. Then Chris channeled all his willpower into his strong right arm. He managed to yank it backward again, wrenching Miguel's grip loose. Trembling with the effort, Chris brought his right hand closer to his left ... the tips of the middle fingers touched ... I saw triumph dawning in Chris's face as he spread his fingers, ready to clamp his hands together ...
'NO!' An explosive roar burst from Miguel. Down came his right arm again, forcing Chris's hands apart. In a lightning-swift move, Miguel seized Chris's left arm a second time, this time closer to the wrist. He took the time to wrap his fingers securely around Chris's arm and position his own arm and shoulder for a more effective second attempt. There was a pause. Chris's head sagged forward, his cheek against Miguel's shoulder, his eyes closed, his jaw slack, and I heard him give a long shuddering sigh of disappointment. Miguel began to smile ...
If Miguel had chosen that moment for the final pull ... But Chris's fighting spirit wasn't conquered. I saw him raise his chin and give his head a quick shake, flicking a dangling lock of hair away from his eyes. He glanced down at his left arm, and I could tell that he was refocussing his willpower on to maintaining that crucial hold.
The moment came. Miguel pulled sharply downwards. Chris's arm jerked and shuddered. This time his elbow unbent a little, and his left hand slipped against the sweaty skin of the back of Miguel's neck. Miguel's left arm flailed as he attempted to free it. Then the two fighters seemed to reach a brief stalemate. Chris was frowning, his breathing irregular and noisy. This time, Chris seemed to be using his right arm differently. His right hand gripped Miguel's right wrist, pushing upward to counteract Miguel's pull downward. But I was worried. What Chris was doing might hamper Miguel, but it didn't look like a way to defeat him -- and sure enough, with each powerful tug from Miguel, Chris's left hand slipped further towards being dislodged from Miguel's neck ...
Then I remembered something, and my blood ran cold. Cody! Why wasn't he helping Chris? I looked across at him. The stocky young thug was watching the fight intently, a few feet away. His arms were folded and there was a smile on his lips. Whose side was he on? He must be betraying us -- he was still with Miguel and the supervisor after all!
Chris saw me look across at Cody, and he saw too my expression of horror. With a stab of remorse I realized that I had put the same thought into Chris's head. That thought, on top of what his arm muscles were suffering -- it was too much. A final tug from Miguel, and Chris's left hand was grasping only air.
With both his arms now free, Miguel spun round to face Chris: 'It's time for payback now, buddy -- FULL AND FINAL payback!'
Miguel surveyed Chris contemptuously. Chris was still standing, but teetering. His arms were bent at his sides, but seemed paralyzed. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath. In his face as he looked up at Miguel was sadness, and fear too, but no abject cringing. Then he looked tenderly towards me and gave a tiny headshake, just like the night before. 'Glad I met you, Nick ... too bad ...'
While Chris's eyes were still locked on to mine, Miguel's hands closed around his throat. Chris's head was tilted backward. His knees trembled and buckled. His hands grasped Miguel's arms, but feebly. His marvelous sweat-glistening body was forced relentlessly down, down, in defeat. I was in despair. Though fearing the worst, I couldn't risk letting go of the supervisor. My sturdy bodyguard and guide, my lover of one night -- I could do nothing to save him, except preserve in my head images that would be his memorial during my lifetime: those soft lips, those proud dark nipples, the luscious contours of that chest and belly, the firm flesh under the smooth skin ...
Then -- WHAM! Miguel staggered and let go of Chris, who collapsed to the floor, coughing and spluttering. Intent on Chris, I hadn't noticed Cody clench his two fists together and bring them down square between Miguel's shoulder blades -- a pulverizing axhandle blow. Miguel staggered, dazed, then turned: 'Why, you ...!' But Cody was prepared. Bent low, he suddenly straightened his body and his right arm so that his knuckles exploded into Miguel's chin. Miguel's head snapped back and his body keeled over, straight, like a felled tree. The bully was out cold.
Chris, the supervisor and I all gazed at Cody in amazement. 'Whaddya waiting for, limey?' Cody said. 'Get those handcuffs out of the boss's pocket -- I mean the former boss!' Taking them, he dragged the unconscious Miguel over to the chair where I was holding the supervisor, and brisky handcuffed Miguel's left wrist to the supervisor's right ankle.
Two hours later, back in my hotel room, Chris knelt naked on the bed, clenching and unclenching his left hand as, standing behind him, I inexpertly but gently massaged his left arm and shoulder.
'Ooh!' he winced, as I squeezed his tender bicep. 'Sorry!' I apologized. 'No, keep going! It's good!' And he turned his face to look up at me, flashing a brilliant smile. I couldn't resist -- I kissed again those lips, those eyes, those bristly cheeks. The physiotherapy would have to wait.
Later ... Chris lay face up on the bed, his arms above his head. Naked too, leaning on my elbow, I stroked his belly and thigh and his limp but satisfied penis. An earlier conversation resumed.
'I don't blame Cody,' Chris said. 'He wanted it to be him on his own, when Miguel got his final punishment. I can understand that, seeing how Miguel had been treating him. And it was kind of a compliment to me, flooring Miguel with an uppercut in the same way I did the other night!'
'Yeah, that's what he told me,' I growled, 'but I sure wish he hadn't left you to get tortured for so long!'
'Well, if I can forgive him, I reckon you can!' grinned Chris. 'And it's good that he alerted the Organization before heading out west. I wish I could see the faces of the Organization guys when they find Miguel and the supervisor handcuffed together like that! Man, that'll be the last we see of that goon and that creep -- life won't be worth living for them in Gotham City no more!'
'But life will be worth living for us, huh? There's a chance I'll be posted to the Gotham City branch of my bank ...'
'Whaaat? Why didn't you tell me before, you sweet kid!' Chris pounced on me, and I found myself squeezed tight against his chest. I gasped: despite last night's pummeling, those arms were strong!
'"Life will be worth living," says Mr Rawlings! That's your English understatement, I guess!' Then Chris nuzzled my neck, his tongue caressing my skin, and I shuddered in exquisite agony ...