All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at:
pjalexander1753@gmail.com
PJ
D'n'M Part 6
From Chapter 5:
And he continued round to his butt, spreading soap over both cheeks, along the crack and across his hole. His dick didn't think this was at all fair and wasn't yet ready to give up on the idea of making the most of this situation. It sprung a full-on hard-on, but Nico was determined not to be persuaded and moved his hands upwards, washing his flat tummy, his just-starting-to-show-some-definition-pecs (not ignoring his coin-sized nipples), his neck and face. Finally, he lathered up his hair and watched as the bubbles cascaded down his lithe and freshly-scrubbed teenage body.
Would all these preparations, he wondered, be good enough to make a success of his plan?
Chapter 6:
If anything, Milo's experience at the ministry was even more surprising, and briefer, than it had been at the embassy. Again, he barely had to tell his name to the receptionist before Violetta Lopez, herself, appeared at his side and greeted him as if he was her long-lost brother (or a distant cousin at the very least), such was her apparent enthusiasm for seeing him again. As soon as they were inside her office, almost before she'd had time to offer him a seat, she picked up a folder that was lying in the middle of her desk and took from it a very official-looking document. At the top was the colourful and elaborate ministry coat of arms and that day's date, followed by several closely-typed lines of text. Of course it was in Spanish. Milo's knowledge of the language, okay for most day-to-day situations, was nowhere near good enough to make much, if any, sense of what he could see on the sheet of high quality paper he'd been handed. Yes, there on the third line was his own name in bold type and, a couple of lines further down, he saw that of Domenico de Beer. Also, at the bottom of the page, was the flourish of a signature and an official-looking embossed stamp, but apart from that, he was stumped. He glanced up at Senora Lopez with a questioning expression on his face.
"This," she began, "Is the official confirmation of the transfer of responsibility for the care and protection of Domenico de Beer from the sovereign state of Argentina and the City of Buenos Aires to you, his uncle and guardian, Milo de Beer-Reed. Many congratulations," she added.
"And that's it?" asked Milo. "No other legalities or documentary proof required?" He could scarcely conceal his incredulity. This was nothing like the marathon of hurdle-jumping that would be demanded in a similar situation back at home.
"Shall we just say that the minister took a particular interest in your nephew's case and was anxious that there should be no unnecessary, er, obstaculos?"
"Obstacles."
"Yes, thank you. As I say, no unnecessary obstacles to delay you from returning home with Nico to start your new life together."
Milo wasn't fooled by this diplomatic and seemingly considerate explanation. Clearly the minister wanted this situation off his desk and out of his department as quickly and quietly and with as few ripples as possible. However, he didn't think it would be very kind or polite of him to say so. Instead he said, "Well, that's good to know. And thank you for all your assistance, Señora Lopez."
"Not at all. It was my pleasure." With a genuine-seeming smile she placed one hand in the small of his back and began to steer Milo towards the door. "Oh yes, I almost forgot, I have asked Isabella Marquez to inform Señor and Señora Roja that they can expect you to collect Nico some time later today. I assume it is your intention to take the next available flight home?"
"Yes, it is. I'm hoping to book seats for tomorrow morning. If there are any still available," he added.
"Oh, I'm sure there will be," she replied, with an emphasis that convinced Milo that there was a great deal of politicking and arm-twisting going on below the surface to speed his departure from the country.
As soon as he left the ministry building, with a final, "Good luck and Bon Voyage," from Violetta Lopez, Milo was on the phone to the airline.
"Ah yes, Señor de Beer-Reed, you wish to confirm your booking for tomorrow's 10:00 a.m. flight?"
So, he was right, there really were wheels within wheels at work. Obviously he knew that he hadn't been able to make a decision about booking a provisional flight (he had the memory of the two halves' little spat on the subject as proof), so someone had decided, or, more likely, been instructed, to make the booking for him. Who else but someone concerned with the ministry? Wow! They really were keen to get rid of the `Nico problem'.
"What? Oh, yes, the 10:00 a.m. flight. Thanks."
He read out the credit card number and that was it, he and Nico were going home. He couldn't wait to tell D.
It looked as if Nico had been ready and waiting for him for quite a while, thought Milo, when he arrived at the Roja house. He was right. It had been after he'd had his shower and gone down to the kitchen for something to eat, that Señor Roja told the boy that he'd had a call from Señora Marquez at the ministry and that all the necessary legal processes had been completed and that his uncle would be coming to take him back to the hotel before the end of the day.
"You will be flying home tomorrow morning," he explained. "Isn't that exciting?"
On hearing this news Nico nodded -- he still rarely spoke -- and headed for the fridge to get himself something to eat.
He supposed that most kids his age would be excited by the prospect of their first ever ride in an aeroplane. For him, though, it was yet another nail in the living coffin that he was being condemned to.
Shit,' he thought, This is really gonna to happen.' Up to that moment the whole thing had seemed somehow unreal -- yes, a horror-show, but definitely unreal. But now, according to his foster dad, it was all too real. He really was about to be yanked away from everything he'd ever known, flown, who knew how many thousand miles, to be pimped out for as long as it was worth someone's while to get out their dick and shove it into him. Fuck! And he'd thought that his life had been hard enough so far. Well, maybe, if his plan worked out, things might not be altogether as bad as they could be.
Time enough, though, to think about that later, for now he had another priority. The time was getting on for midday so something more than tostadas or cereales was needed. An ability to put together a decent meal was another of the skills that Nico had developed during his childhood, very necessary all through those long years when his mum was rarely in a fit state to take care of such basic needs. Twenty minutes later he was sitting down to a plateful of ham and mushroom omelette with a green salad and a glass of orange juice. Five minutes after that the plate and glass were both in the dishwasher, a good sign, thought Domenico Roja, that Nico had adjusted well to the reality of his new situation. But he couldn't help but worry about what had to be going on under the surface. After all, he and Maria had fostered many abandoned, sad and traumatized children over the years since their own babies had been taken to heaven, and this boy had recently lost his mother in indescribably terrible circumstances. From the outline details they had been given about Nico's background and childhood, there were many years of therapy ahead if he was ever going to put it all behind him and have any chance at all of making a success of his life.
Domenico Roja didn't know it, but his thoughts were pretty much identical to those that had been going through Milo's head ever since he'd been hit by the reality of the responsibilities he was about to take on. After leaving the ministry, carrying the all-important certificate of guardianship, he went back to the hotel and started making some calls. The first one, of course, was to D who, Milo thought, could have sounded just a bit more excited to hear that he and Nico would be home in only a few hours. But he let that pass -- for now. His next call was to his boss, at Margelles and Associates. He knew that Nico had to have been damaged beyond imagining by the life he'd been forced to lead for all of his fourteen years, something that Milo knew he would feel a terrible sense of personal responsibility for, no matter how long he lived. He knew, too, that the care and support of a loving family would go a long way towards helping to heal the wounds of those years. But his experience as a psychologist and therapist told him, in the clearest terms, that family could only do so much and that, beyond that, professional intervention would be vital. Twenty minutes of conversation with Shania Margelles set the wheels in motion for a course of therapy sessions with the boss herself (Milo had hoped but genuinely hadn't expected that she'd be willing to take on Nico as a client, thinking she'd be way too busy with all her other responsibilities). They agreed that the sessions would start as soon as possible once Nico was settled with Milo and Dan.
Milo's third and last call was to his dad. He knew that things had been set up for Nico to enrol at Greenside High, despite Ms. Ohura's initial reluctance, but he also knew that the boy had received very little in the way of formal education and that being thrown, full-time, into the deep end of high school could well turn out to be a much more sink than swim experience. But he'd got a plan and wanted to run it past his dad.
Gerry was more than pleased to hear his son's voice.
"Great to hear from you, son. How're things going?"
"Everything's going well and, unless there's a last-minute hitch, we'll be home very soon. But listen, dad, I don't have much time to chat and I want to get your thoughts on an idea I've had about Nico's education."
"I thought Dan told you that I`d got it all sorted for him to start at Greenside High as soon as. That old trout Ms. Ohura wasn't keen but, once she'd been reminded of all the trouble there'd been with that nasty business with Dan and Coach Roberts, she suddenly became very co-operative." Milo could hear the smile on his father's face.
"Yes dad, I know all that, but I'm thinking that it might be a good thing to allow Nico to ease gently into school, you know, so he can start to make friends and stuff, but take the academic pressure off him by having a home tutor to help bring him up to speed. He's hardly had anything that you'd call proper schooling so he'll be way behind the other kids his age. And," he added, "Teenagers can be really cruel to anyone who sticks out in any way. I'd hate Nico to be the victim of any nastiness or bullying."
"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. What do you want me to do?"
"I was hoping you'd be able to come up with the names of some possible tutors. I'm sure some of your business friends will have had their kids tutored, so they should be able to make some suggestions."
"Leave it with me, son. I'll have a short-list of potential tutors ready for you and Dan to look at by the end of the week at the latest. Oh, and Milo ..."
"Yes dad."
"You know I love you, don't you? And that I couldn't be more proud." It was a different kind of smile that Milo could now hear.
"Yes, dad, I know. And I can't tell you how special that makes me feel. And I can't wait to introduce you to your grandson."
"That makes two of us. I'll be ready and waiting. See you soon."
"Yes, soon. And you take care." Milo wiped away a tear as he phoned for a cab to take him to the Roja's home, and to Nico.
And so, there they were, once again in the Roja's still-weird living room - Milo, Señor Roja, Señora Marquez and Nico with his small bag packed and his face looking ... what? Not excited. No, definitely not excited, Milo decided. Expectant? No, his expression was too neutral. Resigned? Yes, probably resigned was the best description and, if that was the case, Milo would take it. Resigned was certainly a better starting point than antagonistic or downright hostile, both of which could easily be expected from someone in Nico's situation. Resigned suggested a degree of acceptance on the boy's part, and acceptance, in Milo's professional experience, was more than half way to positivity.
"Señora Roja is not here?" enquired Isabela Marquez.
"She'll be back soon," replied Domenico Roja. "She's gone to the store to buy a small gift for Nico to take away with him. Something to remember us by," he added.
"What a kind thought," said Isabela. "I'm sure Señor de Beer -Reed isn't in so much of a hurry that he can't wait a few minutes for your wife to return."
"No, not at all," responded Milo, a more-or-less convincing smile of acceptance on his face. The truth was, though, that he wasn't keen to remain under the gaze of the dead Roja babies any longer than was absolutely necessary.
"Maybe Nico would prefer to go out in the back while we wait," suggested Isabela. "While we sign off on the final paperwork."
"Good idea," replied Domenico, glancing at the boy. "You could go and kick a ball around, yes?"
It was obvious from the look of gratitude that passed across Nico's face and the speed with which he left the room that he was more than pleased to escape the presence of the three adults.
"Kick a ball?" Milo queried. "Is that something he likes to do?"
"Likes? Soccer is more like an obsession for Nico. It's just about the only thing we've found that he has any interest in. Since he's been here, if he's not been in his room, he's been outside with a ball," Domenico explained.
`Or running away,' a comment from one half of his mind that Milo chose to ignore.
"Yes, it was pretty much the only thing I could get him to say more than two words about," added Isabela. "The people at Our Lady of Flowers mentioned it too. They seemed to think he was really quite skilled for a boy of his age."
That, Milo thought, could have been useful information to help in the process of building a positive relationship with Nico once they got home, except that soccer wasn't his thing and D had completely distanced himself from the game after what happened with Coach Roberts. But it might still be worth considering as something for him to get involved with at Greenside High.
As these thoughts were running through Milo's head, Isabela Marquez was laying out a pair of documents on the tiled coffee table in the middle of the room. Once she'd finished she turned to Milo and began to explain that the transfer of Nico's guardianship from the city and council of Buenos Aires would finally be completed once he, the Rojas and herself, as the representative of the city, had signed both copies of the document. One, she told him, would be his to keep and show to the authorities once he and Nico arrived home. So, the fancy document that Violetta Lopez had given him at the ministry hadn't been the end of the process. It seemed that that city insisted on having the last word. Well, from Milo's perspective, he wasn't concerned about the bureaucratic niceties just so long as he had a piece of paper that could and would guarantee his right to take his nephew home. For that he'd sign anything. So he took the pen that Isabela Marquez handed to him and signed on both dotted lines, the Spanish version he handed back to her and the English he folded and slipped into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
It didn't seem much later, after Maria Roja's return, the presentation of her gift to Nico, a flurry of shaken hands and goodbyes and a brief taxi ride, that Milo found himself leading the way into his hotel bedroom and closing the door behind them. For the first time he and Nico were alone. What next? Milo was hit with a sudden understanding of the size of the responsibility he was taking on. From the moment he had taken the decision to bring Nico home, right up to the reality of finding himself there in that hotel room, his head had been so taken up with navigating his way through all the arrangements, the unfamiliarity, the bureaucracy, that he hadn't had time to stop and properly reflect on just exactly what he was facing. Life as the legal guardian of a teenage boy, well, that was huge. His head began to throb. Suddenly he remembered Helen's insistence on booking a separate, though connected, room for Nico, somewhere he could go for privacy and alone-time she had said. Great idea, mum,' he thought. Give us both a bit of breathing space.'
If he was honest with himself, Milo had to admit to feeling guilty for already wanting to get away from Nico when the only time they'd spent alone together had been during the taxi ride to get them to the Recoleta Royale. On that fairly short journey from the Roja's house Milo had abandoned the idea of trying to get a conversation going. Nico refused to respond to any of the subjects he raised, even soccer. The psychologist in him was able to provide a perfectly well-founded explanation for this silence on Nico's part, but the new uncle and legal guardian couldn't help feeling hurt and unfairly rejected. And this feeling was majorly reinforced when, on arriving at the hotel and deciding that they should to go straight to the restaurant, Nico had chatted happily to the waiter when ordering his food. Smiling and communicating, these were two sides of Nico that Milo had not seen before. And he was transformed -- animated, bright-eyed and confident, everything you might hope a fourteen-year-old boy to be. How long will it be,' thought Milo, Before he responds to me like that?' He could tell that at least one half of his mind was about to come up with an answer to that question so he shut it down before it could get started.
Up in the room, the feeling of hurt was still taking up most of Milo's attention, so much so that he didn't notice Nico's eyes as they took a tour of the room, coming to a stop at the bed. The only bed. Yes, it was a generous king size but still, very definitely, the only bed in the room. Immediately his fears were confirmed, his pervert uncle was intending to sample the goods and give him a thorough fucking. That way he'd be left in no doubt exactly where he fit into his new `family'. He hadn't been expecting it to happen so soon but, he told himself, as it was going to happen anyway, the time and place didn't make a fuck's worth of difference. And besides, the sleeping arrangements couldn't have been better for his plan to work. So he was more than surprised when Milo opened up a second door on the other side of the hotel room and explained that this was the way through to his own, completely separate, room. What? This didn't make sense. Why was he being given his own room? A separate space? His own bed? Whatever, he wasn't about to let this totally unexpected development deflect him from the plan.
Leading him across the room, Milo explained to Nico that they had a long day ahead of them tomorrow and that, although it wasn't yet very late, it would be a good idea for them to get an early night. He explained that he was intending to make a couple of calls, "back home", and then planned to take a shower before turning in. Nico, he said, was free to watch TV, shower, order in more food, whatever he liked. The two things he was not allowed to do were to leave their shared accommodation or take anything from the mini-bar! Nico didn't raise even a ghost of a smile. Milo decided to make one more attempt to get a response from the boy.
"Good night, Nico. I know this is all pretty strange and I know it's a lot to take in. But please believe me when I say that I, if fact we, the whole family, can't wait for you to be living with us and we're gonna do everything we can to make you happy. And that's a promise."
Yeah, right,' thought Nico dismissively. Happy as long as my body is still bringing in the cash and as long as you and your `husband' and your dad can all stick your dicks in it whenever you want. That's gonna make me really happy! I can't wait!'
Realising that Nico wasn't going to reply, Milo turned away before closing the connecting door, making doubly sure that there was no way that Nico would see the tears that had begun to form in the corners of his eyes. Shit! He was even more convinced that this was going to be a hard road. With that thought swamping every other one in his head, Milo pulled off his clothes and walked across to the bathroom.
Once Milo left the room with the connecting door closed behind him, Nico, too, began to take off his clothes, but not to take another shower and not to get into bed. He did, though, go into his own bathroom and was pleased to find a hotel-sized bottle of moisturising oil which he carefully rubbed onto the skin of his torso, legs and arms. He then began to concentrate on his dick which, at first, didn't look as if it was going to co-operate but, after several minutes of concentrated effort, began to thicken and lengthen. Finally, with a half-way decent chub in evidence, both Nico and his dick were ready.
`I really fucking need this to work,' he thought as he walked through into his uncle's room and positioned himself on the bed.
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