by Seihaku Perrito (精薄perrito)


Essua threw the last of the discreet, black bags on to the back of the truck. His hotel-issued black jeans were too hot in the humid Costa Rican night. His white polo, sporting the hotel’s insignia on the left breast, had been professionally pressed when he put it on this morning but now hung limp with accumulated sweat. It had been a busy day at the height of peak season, and though tired he felt accomplished.

It was three o’clock in the morning and most of the guests were stumbling back to the hotel, mainly through the front entrance. This sporadic parade of barflies let out a hoot or howl every so often that carried on the wind and echoed through the grounds. Unlike Cancun, which saw its fair share of drunken students from every income bracket, the young partygoers who visited Costa Rica had grown bored with the Mexican coast before they were old enough to vote back in their home country.

The exhausted Essua jumped at a noise, not coming from the front of the hotel, but from close behind him. A person stumbled into the glow of the hotel’s floodlights. Essua drew back, knowing full well how enticing the garbage of vacationers was to street dwellers. Essua wouldn’t endanger his job over a drooling addict, but he wasn’t about to face down a desperate thief and so thought it best to quickly and quietly finish up and call it a night. However, while these thought ran through his mind, the figure drew closer and Essua tensed up.

When clearly illuminated by the light from the doorway, the shadow was not as intimidating. It was a young man of a boxy build but average height with pale skin and tawny hair. His striped overshirt was unbuttoned, hanging off his shoulder. Unsurprisingly, he sported a white, ribbed wife-beater underneath. It was the pre-faded baseball cap worn at an angle that completed the package.

It was a young man he recognized from this morning at the poolside, and a couple of his friends beyond him, all stumbling drunk and reeking of sweat and cologne. Two boys had a blond girl between them, her waist supported by their arms. While they were throwing their heads back with laughter, their friend in the striped shirt was falling behind, his face contorted into one of confusion. He stole away from the group, lunging toward an open trashcan and putting a death grip on the sides.

Hijo de puta…” Essua cursed under his breath and then called out, irritated, “Hey!” But it was too late, the boy was already retching into the canister Essua had just emptied.

One of the boys called back from the entranceway, “Fuck! Brendon, man…” He sounded mildly amused but clearly it was more out of contempt.

“What’s wrong?” the girl slurred. The other boy leaned in and spoke to her in hushed tones. They all laughed weakly. When the door shut behind them, Essua and the boy in the pink shirt were left alone in the little cul-de-sac of light. The boy remained hunched over the trash can, Essua’s trash can, coughing up bile. Essua tentatively reached out his hand with the intention to pat the boy on the back, but thought better of it.

He took a deep breath, and said in the sweetest voice he could muster, the one usually reserved for his baby sisters, “Sir-”

His inquiry was cut short, first by a low moan from the boy, second by a high-pitched scream from beyond the darkness. Essua turned in the direction of the noise just in time to see a willowy silhouette burst from the topiaries surrounding the grounds. It was a woman, apparently the one who had screamed because she continued now. However, another shadow emerged from the bushes, enveloping her and muffling all sounds.

Instinctively, Essua stepped backwards again hesitant to get involved with any thugs at this hour. A confused yelp made him glance around quickly and see a man in grubby clothing grab the sick boy by his wrists and haul him backwards. Another step, and Essua bumped into the waiting arms of his captor, who picked him up by squeezing Essua’s arms.

Shouting hoarsely, Essua was carried out behind the hotel’s loading bay and through a great amount of shadowy activity. A chain of men was loading great crates of things onto the back of a van. Essua was one of a handful of people being hustled onto the back of the truck. Essua fought against his captor, kicking now, knowing he could easily slip off into the awaiting night. However, he was easily overpowered. With a grunt, Essua was forcibly hurled through the open doors of the van and hit the bottom, hard. As his head bounced off the sheet metal and his vision dimmed, he cursed fortune a thousand times over.

Brendon opened his eyes, prompted by the overwhelming stench of rust and dirt. It didn’t take long to process that he was on the floor. Sure, there was nothing unusual about waking up on the floor after a night of heavy drinking, but Brendon was filled with a sense of dread. Something was downright unsettling. Slowly, as the hazy memories of the day before came trickling back, Brendon broke out into a cold sweat.

He surveyed the room from his fetal position. On the other side of the room there was a pipe running from the ceiling to the floor. A woman in a black cocktail dress was leaning against the other side of it. Her head was rolling from side to side, the only sign of movement. Brendon could just make out the shape of body splayed out on the other side of her.

Two men wearing thick, dirty work clothes were pacing lazily around the room, talking to each other and those unseen. No one seemed to notice that Brendon was conscious, or maybe they just didn’t care.

A shuffling of fabric and Brendon twisted his neck to stare almost directly behind him. A dark-haired boy. He was wearing the uniform of a hotel staffer, and had what looked like a medieval ball-and-chain binding his ankles together. The dark coloring and rust contrasted sharply with shiny aluminum of the police-issue handcuffs that he was struggling to get off behind his back.

With a groan, Brendon pulled himself up and saw that he too was bound at the foot, but with a pair of handcuffs plainly designed to be worn on the wrists. Another man, wearing a blue piece of cloth around his forehead, was unraveling a fraying, yellow rope, but was having a hard go of it with what looked like a piece of his finger freshly severed. He swore in Brendon’s face and threw the remaining rope at him.

Brendon did not feel so obscure anymore. He shivered a little at the thought of being the center of attention, but was quickly provided with a distraction.

Essua started cursing, arms pulling at his restraints. Another man in a blue bandana came forward and held the butt of his gun over Essua’s head in a threatening gesture. Essua stopped struggling, but answered the man with a look meant to make blood stop cold. This only prompted laughter from the handful of men scattered throughout the room. All of them wore the same dirty, blue bandanas tied around their foreheads. Some sort of gang uniform.

“Lope!” A man appeared in the doorway, urgently whispered it to the grunt guarding the entrance, then disappeared. The guard turned to the man next to him, “Lope,” and soon the whole room was full of murmurs. They all died, however, when the man in question stepped in from the hallway.

He was dressed in much finer clothes than the other men, but their dirtied state implied that he was not adverse to active participation in whatever atrocities this little cabal indulged in. His hair was long and messy, kept out of his face by another one of those flashy, blue bandanas. And if the large, leather gun sling over his shoulders didn’t confirm his dominance, his cocky, dictatorial smile did. He was flanked by a few sour-looking lackeys. Following him was a serious looking man of muscular build who stood out from the grey surroundings in a blood red t-shirt. But that wasn’t the only conspicuous thing about him: easily a foot and a half taller than Brendon, he had to duck to get in the doorway. He clung to the man called Lope’s side even as others shied away.

The man at the center of all this approached some bystanders and spoke to them briefly in barely audible Spanish.

“Um,” Brendon said loudly enough that a few were already looking towards him, “Excuse me.” The big boss spun his head around in bewilderment, eyes settling on Brendon only after a nervous inspection of the room.

“Ah, I’d almost forgotten,” the man’s accent was thick but his English comfortably slow, “Our little stowaways. Someone had told me that one of them was flamboyantly American. I take it from your intrusion and refusal to stay tied down that this would be you.”

Brendon was put off, “Yeah, well, don’t even think about holding me for ransom or anything. As soon as someone figures out what’s happened to me, the entire United States Embassy will be busting down those doors.”

This induced a wave of laughter. Lope in particular indulged in a good laugh. Even then, his face went ice-cold in an instant. “Hm, is that so? Well I must say, I am sorry we interrupted you and your boyfriend.”

“That’s-” Brendon was completely thrown for a loop; he could just barely remember what happened before he passed out. “Boyfriend?” he spat. A shift in Lope’s gaze made Brendon realize that he was talking about the Costa Rican boy from the hotel.

“I guess my English fails me,” Lope scratched his head and grinned a little at his joke. After walking a circle around the room, he lazily slid into a folding chair facing Brendon but still a couple yards away, “You think this is fun? Taking advantage of our young men in the dark of night?”

Brendon wordlessly opened and closed his mouth.

The gears in Lopes head were slowly turning now. It was obvious he was getting pleasure out of this little exchange, despite the angry act. “But then, who am I to come between true love. We could all use a little bit of that once in a while. Why don’t you give your boyfriend a kiss to cheer him up?”

“What? You sick fuck!”

Lope’s eyes dilated and he effortlessly pulled his shotgun out from behind his back, his stiff movements betraying him as annoyed. “We don’t have to put up with your loud mouth. You being here is an accident, don’t think your lives mean much of anything to anyone.” Lope had the butt of the gun comfortably resting on his left shoulder. He repeatedly tapped two fingers lightly over the trigger, a gesture that wouldn’t be half as menacing without the smile that strained at his leathery cheeks.

Brendon shut his eyes and recoiled in a last ditch attempt to make the entire situation vanish. He was blind for a second after throwing open his eyes and took advantage of this momentary disconnect from reality to turn his body sideways and pull his feet beneath him. The face he saw once the world came back into focus was even more terrifying than Lope’s through the entire ordeal. Essua’s dark eyes were boiling over with contempt, his whole face scrunched into a look of disgust coupled with defiance. Brendon felt his muscles weaken and his throat tighten, the closest thing to crying he’d allowed himself in the last ten years. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, meeting the other boy’s gaze with a face he hoped conveyed the same message. He leaned in and apprehensively blinked his eyes till they were closed again.

He was standing at the edge of a cliff with lions at his back. All he could do was jump and hope he woke up at the bottom.

His lips made contact just to the left of Essua’s mouth, a conscious maneuver by Essua. Brendon twitched in anger, Does this little fuck want us killed? In a quick, angry motion he grabbed the back of Essua’s head, fingers round the roots, and pulled his face back forward. At this, Essua winced and a couple of thugs standing to the right of Lope hollered and laughed.

Undaunted, with Lope’s lead gaze still on him, Brendon once again leaned forward. His eyes fluttered open for just an instant and took in Essua’s livid expression and hateful eyes. Then, finally, the soft edge of his parted lips felt the pressure of Essua’s, pursued and throbbing with excess blood flow. Brendon tilted his head as his tongue pushed forward, attempting to pry open Essua’s mouth starting in the corner. The sound of Essua breathing, frenzied and through his nose, seemed painfully loud to Brendon. Just then, as he was able to slide the tip of his tongue over Essua’s smooth canines, Essua’s mouth was open, struggling for air, and Brendon took the opportunity to plunge as much of his tongue that he could down into Essua’s throat. He could feel the muscles of Essua’s mouth tense and spasm around his tongue, but kept his movements quick to avoid having to mull over the sensation any longer than necessary.

Brendon’s hands shifted and rose to frame that dark face, palms pressing with force into his fragile cheek bones. Brendon drew himself up above Essua’s height and went in for a longer, deeper kiss, all the while some part of him reveling in the other boy’s submission.

At once, the woman on the other side of Essua cried out for no meditated reason and Essua bit down, hard, into Brendon’s lower lip. A grunt fired a shot meant to silence, not harm, the woman, and in all this confusion the boys were forgotten. Brendon had thrown himself backwards, hands groping desperately over his stinging lip. When at last he was sure his injury would pass, he looked up to glare at Essua. His look of indignation was snuffed out by Essua’s sneering face, cheeks stained with tears.

Of all the people in the room the only two left watching the boys were Lope and the tall, thick man that had accompanied him. Lope was clearly agitated by his insubordinate minions, and with only a tilt of his head in that direction, he called out to them in Spanish, finishing with a “¡Retrasos!” that made a few of them flinch.

The other man spoke out, the big man, and in a thick accent. “Come, Lope, we have much business. Leave this little party, for now.” He stole a guilty glace in the two boys’ direction.

“¡Y usted, en español!” Lope shifted for a moment in his chair, all the motion his self-control would allow, even though the anger in his eyes looked desperate for an outlet. It was convenient that he had one.

“You,” Lope wagged the barrel of the gun at Brendon. “On him,” said with a tilt of his head. “Go on,” a toothy grin, “You’ve got us all worked up now. I want to see you really give it to him. I want him to beg.”

A few of the men around the room squirmed, but most were clearly entertained by the idea.

Brendon remained still and stared with blank eyes. He couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting this from his captor, guessed the moment Lope opened his crooked lips and commanded Brendon to stick his tongue down Essua’s throat. He’d always made jokes about these kinds of perverts when amongst friends, never really stopping to think that there was actually someone out there who really got off on something so sadistic.

A few of Lope’s men shifted uncomfortably. The big man by his side let out and exasperated sigh, “Lope…”

Lope’s angry glare was countered by the other man’s. For a second Lope almost looked ready to give in, but with a quick flick of his tongue across his upper lip, he regained that devious look to his visage. “If you don’t like it, Leandro, please feel free to leave. I, on the other hand, am going to celebrate my victory.” A stiff turn of the head and a sickly sweet smile, “Go on, pretty boy.”

Brendon felt his stomach turn over. He reached for Essua, hands shaking. As he drew closer to him, Essua’s look changed from one of a cornered beast prepared to strike, to one of complete shock and horror. Brendon wished, God how he wished, he could just talk the other boy through this. Strange how he had so quickly accepted the fact that escape was impossible, he couldn’t bring himself to so much as wish for freedom. All he wanted right now was to apologize to the stranger he was about to rape. Strange, how small this world had become. He pushed Essua down on his back, and his legs contorted awkwardly behind him.

Beneath his shirt, Essua’s body was colder than ice. Brendon could feel the sweat from his palms cooling as he dragged them over the lower portion of Essua’s ribs. There was very little to him, taut muscles that lacked bulk. However skinny, the awkward jut of his hips was beautiful; the kind of shape Brendon would appreciate in a girl. While running his thumb along the crest of the boy’s pelvic bone, Brendon brought his face close enough so that his cheek just brushed the skin there. When he closed his eyes, and concentrated on the figure his hands were mapping, it was almost enough to excite him. It was a start at least.

Essua, meanwhile, never stopped flinching and trying to pull away. The exertion was understandably exhausting, but Brendon couldn’t help being unnerved by the labored breathing and groans coming from deep within Essua. It was too much like sex, which was arousing and in turn disgusting. He could feel his lower half raging to life as his stomach did somersaults in the background. Thinking only to put an end to the fidgeting, Brendon wrapped his left hand around Essua’s throat, putting pressure on his windpipe. Essua went silent after a distressed gasp.

Brendon’s other hand nervously danced about the hard nubs of Essua’s lower spine, unsure in its movements. Once or twice, his fingers brushed up against the top of the other boy’s jeans but Brendon jerked away every time. Silently, Brendon cursed himself for being such a wuss. But then, this wasn’t the kind of thing you could do if you weren’t really into it. Brendon would have to do something about that.

Brendon pushed and Essua’s head flew backwards, his feet splaying out from beneath him. He caught himself on his elbows before his head hit the hard metal, but was still visibly shaken by the sudden violence. Brendon had moved his hand from his throat and now had it pressed firmly against his ribcage, keeping him pinned to the ground while Brendon finished the job.

Eyes half closed, Brendon traced a trail with his tongue down that dark stomach, pulling open the top of Essua’s jeans with such force that the metal zipper twisted and curled into a useless shape. With an exploratory touch that could easily be mistaken for childish curiosity, Brendon traced the outline of Essua’s genitals through his underwear. It occurred to Brendon that he’d never so much as seen another man’s cock outside of trashy movies, let alone touched one, held it in his hand. Tentatively, he stroked it through the fabric, mashing his palms between the other boy’s thighs as though trying to remove a stain. Without even noticing, Brendon had brought his face closer to the other boy’s growing arousal, a result of being so extremely focused. Brendon’s cheek brushed up against Essua’s cotton-bound erection, and Brendon exhaled gratuitously, not even aware he’d been holding his breath.

Still dazed, Brendon allowed himself one last glance up at the strange boy’s face, obscured as it was by Essua’s heavily panting chest. Black hair hung in sweaty strands obscuring his eyes, but the constantly changing lines of his face conveyed strong emotion regardless.

Like some sick science experiment, Brendon drew his fingers up the front seam of Essua’s underwear and watched the other boy’s face contort in unspeakable emotion. It made Brendon’s head spin: the thought that this guy might be enjoying himself, if his physical reaction was anything to go by. The freak.

Dizzy and fueled on what he had convinced himself was anger, Brendon twisted Essua’s briefs down to his knees and pushed his legs off to the side, bound as they were, leaving Essua exposed. The filthy basement was gone along with everyone in it. Brendon was rapt. Shaking, he undid the top of his jeans, the humid air stiffening the erection that Brendon had felt building up.

He pushed his way in to Essua, the muscles there giving way with some resistance. Brendon paused then, shaking, afraid because he could feel the other body breaking beneath him. He tried to push further but didn’t manage to do anything other than distort his senses for a good minute.

Essua screamed, alternatively swore. His faced was pressed down into the floor and his cries sounded very far away, but nonetheless unnerving.

Brendon’s voice caught in his throat, the choking feeling causing his eyes to water and blur. It was hot, so hot. His body was moving of its own accord, jerking uncontrollably. When he came, it was ultimately unsatisfying but such a burden off his shoulders that every muscle in his body unclenched and fell slack. He moaned and pulled out of the quivering, half-tumescent boy underneath him.

Brendon swooned, curling into himself. He closed his eyes and tried, tried, tried to shut out the commotion that had broken out amongst the gangsters.

Essua wanted to go around picking up the pieces of his shattered pride, but even the metaphoric idea of standing was enough to send a chill down his spine. These “chills” had less to do with the typically cold, iron floor, than the fever that had spread through Essua’s body. He hadn’t cried since he was a young boy, and perhaps he’d forgotten how because now his eyes were quietly blinking out cold tears haphazardly.

There were only two of Lope’s men left in the dirty cellar, now. Both were armed, but one had fallen asleep on a folding chair making him of little concern right now.

A clink, shuffle and the sound of breathing alerted Essua to the fact that the American boy had pulled himself up closer. He was now practically leaning over Essua’s prostrate form. More out of reflex, Essua turned his head to meet faces.

“Hey,” the boy’s green eyes were wide with concern, but his own battered reflection in them only made Essua angrier. He rolled away, grimacing more for effect than anything having to do with real pain.

There was silence for a few minutes. “Hey, I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Those guys… They were going to kill me, kill us. Fuck! That guy’s already- They already… her husband! Oh, god! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you…” The boy had started crying early on, but by the end of his apology was breathing great, heavy sobs that shook the floor.

Essua very much wanted to ask him, Why the hell are you crying? However, he knew that this would remain unspoken. Really, the thought that this boy, so large and confident, could be reduced to tears, scared Essua. Even if the situation hadn’t changed, something in Essua certainly had and he found himself choking on labored moans. Within moments, he was crying for real, a legitimate fit of despair devoid of any kind of anger. Both boys sat there like that, crying to no one in particular, for the better part of an hour.

It was almost daybreak, if the oily, high-set windows were anything to go by.

Essua almost missed, out of the corner of his eye, a dark mass of shadow slither in through the doorway. He stopped crying almost immediately, entranced by the large body sneaking so gracefully out of the guards’ sight. Finally, the conscious one sensed that something was not right and called out half-heartedly. The mysterious man moved like lightning.

After wresting the gun out of the hands of the sleep-addled grunt, the shadowy figure knocked him out with a blow to the head. The remaining guard shouted in protest and took aim, only to drop his weapon once a bullet connected with his shoulder and his arm went slack. Clutching his wound, he fell into an indiscernible heap.

When the figure stepped into the light, Essua recognized him instantly as the large man who’d been at Lope’s side all night. Leandro. His hair was a mess and his clothes disheveled, but his eyes were calm and focused. Wordlessly he knelt down and began to file with steady hands at the shackle over Essua’s ankles. Once finished, he lifted Essua to his feet, pausing briefly when Essua grimaced at the motion.

“Hey. Hey!” The brown-haired boy protested even as Leandro filed through the handcuffs that kept his feet bound.

“Shhhh,” was the only explanation offered. He kept stealing glances over his shoulder, watching for friend or foe. Finally, “Come, come!” Leandro took Essua’s small wrist in his hand and pulled him out the door, Brendon followed behind, dumbstruck.

They wound their way up a staircase to the main floor of an abandoned warehouse sparsely populated with skeletal machinery and large sheets of linen that shuddered in the wind. Their footsteps echoed painfully loud, but nonetheless they kept at a hurried pace,

They were outside now. This particular side of the building shielded them from the gray rays of the rising sun, casting a shadow that was equal to midnight dark.

Brendon spun around on his heels, desperately seeking an explanation or at least confrontation. He’d just opened his mouth in protest when a well-aimed kick to the stomach managed to both send him reeling back through the van’s open doors and knock the wind out of him, effectively silencing him. While Brendon writhed and cursed, Essua climbed up beside him.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, the two boys found themselves in the back of a van speeding somewhere, everything out of their control.

They had been driving for a long time and the sunlight filtering in through the waxy windows had turned from a bright white to deep gold. Every so often Brendon would mutter something trivial, honestly hoping to get a response out of his partner-in-circumstance. However, Essua never joined the conversation. Brendon knew he understood some English because he would nod or shake his head at a direct question. Beyond that, however, the other boy was content to sit in silence staring forward as the van headed towards its destination. The silence bothered Brendon, so when he finally gave up trying to elicit a conversation, he folded his arms over his knees and dozed off.

He didn’t dream of anything.

The van slowed, stopped, and then changed direction. Brendon lifted his head. Finally, after a few more twists and turns, they slowed to a halt. The motor spurted and convulsed before going silent.

The doors to the truck flew open and Leandro stood there, a shadow illuminated from behind by the sun. He reached in and grabbed both boys by the collar, hauling them out into the mid-afternoon humidity. Brendon glanced around. They were in a dusty parking lot which bordered a yellowing, stuccoed building, double-tiered and instantly recognizable as a motel. For several moments Brendon just stood taking in the view of a vast field of weeds which bordered rocky beach. He almost didn’t see the thirty pound duffel bag that was thrown in his direction until it was too late. Awkwardly, he caught it.

Leandro was carrying another three of similar size, his right hand remarkably free. He glowered at Brendon, a threat. “Up,” he said with a tilt of his head. Brendon obliged, stealing glances behind him as he lugged the mysterious bag up the white, metal stairs.

The furniture, however threadbare and mismatched, seemed to glow with an inviting aura, one of comfort. Sloughing the bag off his shoulder, Brendon walked over to an upholstered armchair and collapsed into it. Leandro caught him in midair.

The two boys were corralled into the tiny bathroom. Stripping them unceremoniously, Leandro threw them by the scruff of their necks into the bathtub. Brendon caught himself against the chipping, floral tile, unsteady from the unexpected manhandling.

“What the fuck do you want?” Nakedness aside, Brendon tried to look ferocious.

Leandro met his eyes with an exasperated glare. “To get out of here. I am going to get the fuck out of here before Lope and his gang figure out where I am and what I took.”

Brendon blinked, “Are… Are we really that important?”

At this, Leandro threw his head back and laughed; a deep belly laugh that seemed to shake the cheap, plaster walls. “You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?” Leandro reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a bent cigarette, “I had been planning to make my escape for a long time. At first I thought the hostages were a bad idea, but then I thought about it and I realized that I couldn’t pull this off without an extra pair of hands. You are… Convenient.”

Brendon was still indignant, “Yeah, well, I-”

Gracias.” Essua whispered under his breath. Neither one had a response to that.

Leandro stood with a huff and left the bathroom, pealing off his sweat-soaked shirt as he made his way. He tossed it to the side, the last of his anger funneled into the action.

Meanwhile, the water was freezing and smelled metallic. While Brendon shivered, Essua was at peace, stretching his muscles and reveling in the cold spray. Brendon sulked in the corner, not wanting to impose. Through the bathroom door, Brendon could see Leandro chewing on the end of his cigarette, leaning against the window frame. The light of the setting sun bounced off the tiny clouds of smoke which filled the room. Brendon pushed the shower curtain aside and climbed out, muttering under his breath all the while. He lingered in the doorway a few more moments

Out of a nervous curiosity, Leandro turned his head towards Brendon as he finished his march across the carpet. Legs shaking down to his ankles, Brendon leaned forward and awkwardly kissed the man on his pursed lips. Undaunted, Brendon pulled Leandro to his feet, no easy job, but then he wasn’t resisting.

Leandro returned this kiss with another, warm but hesitant. There was another kiss, full of unspoken words that passed in between them

Leandro’s arms wrapped around Brendon’s waist, and seemed poised to draw Brendon towards him. However, the two just stood in silence, neither meeting the other’s eye. The entire room had gone quiet, and Brendon didn’t even consider why that was until a pair of slender arms slid over his shoulders, hugging his neck gently. Like his approach, Essua’s touch was velvety. He simply stood there half-embracing Brendon from behind, breathing quietly. In succession, the two stepped forward, enveloping Brendon in a sensation of heat and heartbeat.

Essua nuzzled his face in the crook of Brendon’s neck, drawing his lips lightly across the underside of Brendon’s chin. His chest was now drawn forward, pushed up against Brendon’s back and though still wet, was unbelievably warm. It was that overwhelming heat, the same as yesterday’s, that Brendon just refused to think about.

Not that he was worried about it or anything, not with Essua’s tongue in his ear and Leandro’s rough hands cupping his ass.

When Leandro breathed, it sounded like a growl. The low rumblings felt good against Brendon’s stomach and he shuddered in response. By now, Leandro’s hands were kneading the flesh of Brendon’s thighs with an unspoken desperation, hips already rocking with impatience. Brendon tried to take a step back, clear his head for minute and then confront Leandro. However he nearly fell backwards over Essua, who was now kneeling on the carpet between his legs. Hands clasping the other boy’s quivering knees, Essua pressed his face into Brendon’s buttocks, and began placing lazy kisses all over. When Brendon felt that warm tongue slide over his asshole, he cried out pitifully and threw himself forward into Leandro’s arms, his hips thrust back in a needy, slutty display. Leandro jerked.

“Enough,” Leandro pulled away leaving the two boys frozen in place, confused but obedient. Leandro sauntered over to the door where he spent several minutes rummaging through a large, dark duffel bag. He pocketed something discreetly then put out his cigarette against the wall.

The large man sat down on the bed which sagged, defeated, under the weight. With a sigh, he slid his boots off and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He was the center of attention as he pulled the small tube out his pocket and rubbed a thick, clear lubricant on to his hands. Watching those large hands wring gel over knuckles, Brendon’s confusion dissolved back into a casual arousal. Essua was already walking toward the bed, eyes cast downward but steps unwavering. Brendon hadn’t even noticed when the other boy stood. In the end, Brendon was too occupied with the warm rhythms that echoed throughout his lower body. The sight of Essua straddling Leandro was almost too much. It felt as though he was floating, drawing himself across the room compelled by something other than conscious thought.

Tentatively, he sat down amidst the bedcovers, saddling up next to Leandro. Unmoving, he sat, eyes cast downwards. For now he just listened, listened to Leandro and Essua heavily making out, listened to their pants and their moans. He heard Essua cry out and then sigh, no doubt the result of Leandro touching some sensitive place. That was about as much as Brendon could take and he quickly turned and threw his leg over Leandro’s. He set about placing long, hard kisses down Leandro’s neck, vying for attention perhaps, but it was successful. Leandro lifted him and Brendon steadied himself against the headboard as Leandro’s fingers probed his insides. Two fingers was almost too much and Brendon shivered every time Leandro tugged at the skin around his hole. Brendon shook his head in futile protest. Meanwhile, Essua was belly-up on the bed, facing opposite from Brendon, and busy tugging on Leandro’s member. The more excited Leandro became, the more he abused Brendon’s asshole, jerking and pushing and tugging. When he pulled out at last, Brendon quickly exhaled, fully expecting what came next. But then, he had not expected it happen so soon.

Leandro rubbed himself along Brendon’s backside, his excitement evident. The head of Leandro’s throbbing penis found the hole easily. Even upon its entrance, Brendon braced himself for pain. Brendon could feel all his muscles tightening as Leandro pressed onward, though momentarily daunted by Brendon’s sudden spasm. It was too much and Brendon could feel himself choking on his breath.

He collapsed onto his knees, barely an inch of breathing room between him and Essua, now. Not pleased with this latest shift in position, Leandro hauled Brendon backwards so that while Leandro was spread out over the mattress, then Brendon was on top of him, taking the full length of Leandro’s cock. Brendon cried out in surprise. Leandro was so deep inside Brendon that before either of them started moving, Brendon could feel himself reaching climax. If the pressure inside was unbearable, there was no word for the tension built up between his legs.

Essua was still at the head of the bed, watching them with a glassy interest, eyebrows raised as Brendon white-knuckled his own erection. With a slight shake of his head, Essua slunk forward, eyes always locked with Brendon’s. He settled down on his stomach and, after prying Brendon’s hands away, took the other boy in his mouth. It was just about this time that Leandro lifted Brendon slightly, before he thrust upward into him, the momentum keeping them in a bouncing motion. It was startling, painful, sure, but that was nothing compared to the feel of his cock hitting the back of Essua’s throat as they moved together. He groaned as he came, emptying himself into Essua’s eagerly waiting mouth.

As Brendon returned to his senses, Leandro sat up, and slipped his dick, still hard, out from beneath the exhausted boy. Essua, meanwhile, pulled himself up by Brendon’s shoulders and gave a particularly devilish grin before locking lips with him. Brendon pulled away at first, the taste of his own cum a little too much to handle, but he was only pulled in deeper as Essua’s hand grabbed him by the hair. When Essua finally released him, Leandro leaned in and twisted Brendon’s head around to kiss him from behind. Brendon noticed that Leandro’s stubble was rough against his face. The friction was a source of immeasurable heat.

Brendon watched Essua’s face contort into one of embarrassed pleasure as Brendon was lifted upward, wedged forward as Leandro moved. Christ, thought Brendon, He’s fucking him though me. Before Leandro moved again, Essua managed to slip himself into Brendon. Brendon verbally protested and tried to pull himself away, but Leandro was pushing him from the other direction, effectively sandwiching him.Oh, God.

The three of them moved in a jerky, shaking motion. Each thrusting blindly, thinking of nothing but their own needs. Brendon through his head back onto Leandro’s shoulder, feeling each blow reverberate through him with a gross lucidity. Finally, Leandro and Essua came together, rocking uncontrollably like a great bridge in the wind. Brendon whimpered as Essua forcibly filled his ass with cum, and he came a second time. Depleted, he stared into the buzzing halogen lamp for a few seconds before all his muscles went slack.

Eventually the three of them collapsed, all the angry energy dissipated into the humid night air. Nothing left now but flesh.

Blinking at the bright afternoon sun, Brendon stirred and eventually pushed his way out from under Leandro’s arms. He wandered across the rough, green carpet, destination unclear. He eventually stumbled across an old terry-cloth bathrobe, graying but still far cleaner than any other option he had. He shrugged it on over tired shoulders, and quietly slipped out through the screen door, glancing back at the bed and the two forms tangled beneath thin sheets. He could feel nothing.

His destination was a dilapidated phone booth awkwardly placed in the center of the parking lot. Prying its rusty door open, he allowed himself a quiet grunt to warm up his vocal cords. For a few minutes he only stood, looking at nothing in particular. After he picked up the receiver it took a while to work up the energy to hold it to his ear, as well. The tones when he dialed were loud and echoed between his ears. Finished, he rested his head against the yellowed glass, hair still damp and cooling. “Dad? Yeah, it’s Brendon. I think… I think I’m ready to come home.”

But he wasn’t quite sure he belonged anywhere anymore.

Share this with your friends!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *