The Light in Your Eyes

By Tinnean

Chapter 5

Note: Thank you to the sibs at fanfic_geography for the information about Disneyland.

'We protect our clients!' Tim had pounded that into us, and even after he left, I followed his policy.

We had a high-end clientele, which was why boys wanted to join us. New boys were carefully screened, and if they were accepted, they were assigned to men who didn't have much to lose if they were outed. They weren't given access to our important clients until we were sure they were trustworthy. These men depended on us not to reveal their identities, and we made damned sure we didn't.

Occasionally, they'd ask us to take on a friend or colleague, and we'd do that as a favor to them.

That was how we got to know Mark Vincent a bit better.

A john came to us. He had the correct password, a system we'd instituted in order to make sure that while we might have a violent john once, it would only be once. It was also to avoid undercover vice cops and reporters who wanted a juicy story.

I didn't like the manic look in the Russian's eyes or the flush on his cheeks – but he had the password.

The Russian gave the boys the once-over. "Him." He picked out the Kid, who was slight, fair, and looked to be about twelve years old.

"Would you like to have dinner?" the Kid asked. "A glass of wine?"

"I no want to date you. Want to fuck you."

The Kid gave his easy smile. "Yes, sir. If you'll come this way?" They went to his room, and the rest of us went back to getting ready to go out for the evening.

It was the Kid's shocked, pained cry that alerted us to the fact that something was wrong.

As I'd promised them, I'd black-listed the johns who were into pain – our pain. There were other stables who had no problem catering to them.

Still, this john had been recommended by one of our regulars – the password – so it behooved me to deal with the situation in a diplomatic fashion. I opened the Kid's door quietly instead of bursting in as I would have otherwise.

"Kid, are you … Dammit!"

The Kid was on the bed, blood dripping from his nose and splattered on the bedspread. The Russian's fist was raised to smash into the Kid's face. All thoughts of diplomacy flew out the window. I threw myself at him, knocking him off the Kid, who rolled out of harm's way until he could catch his breath.

The Russian was impossibly strong, and I knew I was outclassed. So did the Kid. He shouted for backup, and Paul, Tom, and Mike raced in, in various stages of dress, and jumped on top of the pile – causing the bed to collapse.

The battle spilled into the living room. There was no way we could handle him, even though there were five of us, and I was ready to resort to fighting dirty.

Vincent heard the ruckus and came to see what it was all about. His expression, the single time I was able to focus on him, was bored. He rolled up his sleeves, pulled the Russian off of us, and clocked him, leaving him bleeding from his nose on the really nice area rug I'd found.

"Call a cab, would you, Sweetcheeks?"

Couched as a question, it was an order nonetheless, and I didn't think twice about obeying him. I did wonder briefly how he'd managed to get in, then decided one of the boys must have forgotten to lock the door after admitting the Russian.

Vincent dragged the man down the stairs, muted thuds announcing each time the Russian's head hit a riser, and out into the street.

"Take this miserable piece of shit to the Russian embassy and let them deal with him," Vincent told the cab driver and gave him a handful of bills.

As a way to say 'thank you,' I gave Vincent carte blanche with any of the boys. "We owe you, man. You can have your choice, any of us you want, for however long you want, gratis."

"That isn't necessary."

"It is necessary. I don't know how you knew we were having a problem with that bastard… "

"I was on my way out," he said blandly.

"Damn good thing for us. Man, you saw what was happening. We would have been out of work, and the Kid might even have needed to be hospitalized. The offer is open-ended, Vincent. It has no expiration date."

"Yeah, yeah. You going to change your policy about having clients over?"

"Because one john got over-excited? One of the hazards of the trade. Doesn't happen often, and when it does, we deal with it." I wasn't going to tell him about the password system we had instituted. It was obvious we'd need to revamp it.

"It's not the best trade to be in. But you'll do what you want to do." Vincent shrugged. "If you need help, bang on the pipes next time."

"What pipes?"

But he was on his way back up to his apartment, rolling his shirt sleeves down and examining his knuckles.

"When I find out who gave that crazy Russian bastard our password and address," I muttered, "he's never gonna get another boy ever!"

"I'll back you on that, Sweets!"

"C'mon. Let's see how much damage was done."

I looked around at the mess the living room had become. Well, I was getting tired of the Country French décor anyway.

And it could have been worse. The boys could have been injured.

****

Every time I saw Vincent, for more than a year after that, I renewed the offer.

He replied the same way, "Some other time, Sweetcheeks," for more than a year, until the night he didn't. He came to us looking for a bottle of Scotch or whisky, but willing to settle for rubbing alcohol, and we knew he was in serious emotional pain. Pretty Boy was the one who took him to bed.

According to him, Vincent's brand of love-making was intense, as were his kisses. "The man knows how to kiss," he said dreamily.

"How many times have I told you?" I ground out as I made him get in the tub to soak the worst of the unintentional bruises. "Johns don't fall in love with hustlers!" I'd taken up that mantra after Tim had moved on.

Paul blushed. "I know better than that, Sweets. I promise I won't do anything so stupid. I promise!"

I hoped I could believe him.

****

We came home one morning after a night's work to find Vincent leaning against the wall next to our door. Dangling from his fingers was a ring with a dozen shiny keys on it. "For each of you, and spares."

"What?"

He nodded toward the door. There was a new lock on it. "The security in this place is for shit. My arthritic grandmother could have picked the lock to get in."

"Hey! That was a top-of-the-line lock!"

"Yeah, well, this is better. I've put in security cameras too."

"Where?"

He pointed them out, and we never would have spotted them if he hadn't.

"Ah, Vince… "

He gave me a look that told me he didn't want any thanks. "I've routed the feeds for them… "

"Feeds?"

"The cameras are no good if you can't see what they've taped. Anyway, I've routed them to your closet, Sweetcheeks. It seems to be the most organized. No offense, Pretty Boy, but I've seen your closet."

Pretty Boy gave a sniff. "My clothes aren't wrinkled, and that's the most important thing."

"Yeah. I've set the tape to loop every 24 hours. I'd save them rather than tape over them, but that's me. The TV and VCR are on the top shelf. Consider it a going away gift."

"Uh… thanks." I didn't bother asking how he'd got into the apartment to do that. He'd changed the lock, which had been guaranteed tamper-proof.

"This is a rough business, and I don't want to read in the paper that one of you got hurt."

"But you're here to protect us!" Pretty Boy flirted his lashes at him.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, I won't be. I'll be moving at the end of the week. You can keep the security… "

"You don't have to do that."

Yes, he did. I jabbed my elbow into Paul's side. We had no idea how long it would take us to get the studio apartment rented again.

Vincent ignored our byplay. "… since I'm giving you such short notice."

"Will you stay in touch?"

He looked surprised – because even rentboys valued their friends? – then cleared his throat. "Yeah. When I can."

Paul hugged him, and Vincent patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Uh… I've got to pack."

"Make sure you give us your address. So we can send you a Christmas card."

"Yeah." He started down the stairs.

"I thought you said you were going to pack."

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Fuck it. I'll do it tonight."

Paul used one of the new keys to unlock our door. "That was so sweet of him."

"He won't, Paul."

"Won't what?"

"Stay in touch."

"You're a cynic, Sweets."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to see you hurt."

"He won't hurt me." Paul sounded so sure, but I was afraid he was in for a big disappointment.

When Vincent moved out, it was with nothing more than he'd brought with him, his clothes, that flat case, and the brass dog.

To my surprise, he did keep in contact with us, and I would have wondered if he'd fallen in love with Paul, but johns didn't fall in love with hustlers.

****

John was able to rent out the studio apartment quicker this time. Well, we'd had a cherry tree planted in front of the house right after we'd moved in, and it had leafed out and flowered nicely. A woman who said she was an artist moved into the apartment. Because of the hours we kept, we seldom saw her or the people who stayed in the first floor apartment, although I became acquainted with Delilah Carson, one of the girls, after we'd tricked together.

Delilah was a beautiful brunette. I was never sure what color her eyes were. She always wore different colored contacts that went with a variety of wigs.

The exec who requested her wanted a boy involved too, and I was free. I assumed he wanted to take turns fucking us, having us go down on him, or maybe that he and I would double-dick Delilah.

"Are you okay with that?" I asked her, a little nervous because while a guy could take it, she was a woman.

She gave me an amused look. "Sure I am, Sweets. Don't worry about me. I like sex, and I'm good at it. And whatever he wants, he'll pay us well for it."

Delilah and I were still dressed when he got there. "Glad to see you haven't started without me." He wasn't as young as I'd expected, in his middle 40s maybe. He carried himself with military precision. Although the top of his skull was hairless and the sides were shaved, he wasn't at all hard to look at. "You can strip now."

We made a show of it, undressing each other. He seemed to enjoy it, if the bulge in his trousers was anything to go by.

"How do you want us, sugar?" Delilah sauntered to him and began undoing his tie.

"I'll be in the middle."

I blinked. "Uh… "

"You have a problem with that, Ace?" He sat on the bed and unlaced his shoes.

"His name is Sweetcheeks, sugar. He doesn't have a problem, do you, Sweets?"

"No." I swallowed. I'd never fucked anyone before. What if I fucked up? My cock didn't seem worried though. The exec had removed his shirt, revealing his chest, which was nicely muscled for his age and with a thatch of fur, contrasting with the sparse amount of hair on his head.

Delilah tore open a condom packet and came toward me, an extra sway in her hips. She knew he was watching us.

"You'll do fine, baby," she whispered and winked, then dropped to her knees. "Turn a bit, Sweets," she ordered, and the john got a good view of her rolling the condom over my cock with her lips. Then she rose and turned to him. "Your turn, sugar."

He was naked now. Delilah tore open a foil packet and repeated the process.

"On your hands and knees," he told her.

Her bed was large and square, a real passion pit. She adjusted some pillows, positioned herself gracefully on them, and glanced over her shoulder.

He turned to me. "Prepare me."

I took the tube of Wet from the bedside table and squirted it on my fingers.

"Planning on doing something any time soon, Ace?"

"Just letting it warm."

He seemed surprised. "Thanks." He parted Delilah's legs. "Put my dick into her. I won't move until you're in me."

His cock was hard, and even through the latex barrier, I could feel his heat. I licked the side of his neck and did as he'd instructed. Then I stroked my lubed fingers over his hole. He must have done this before, because he easily accepted two fingers. More lube to make sure he'd be comfortable, and then I started sliding into him.

"Burns!" he hissed. He spread his legs wider, pushed out his ass. "Give me more!" His weight was braced on one hand while the fingers of his other hand toyed with Delilah's nipples, and she made little happy sounds. "Keep going!"

He held still until I was buried balls deep inside him, although shivers rippled the muscles of his back and his breath whined. I balanced myself by holding lightly to his hips. On my back stroke, he pulled back also, and on my forward stroke, he went forward. Delilah gave a lady-like little grunt as she accepted the weight of both of us.

It was hot, but what was hotter was how it felt to fuck a man, so hot and so tight, and I thought the top of my head was going to explode in a million different directions. The bed creaked. Sweat poured off us. Somehow I held on until he groaned, and I managed to make it look as if I'd purposely timed myself to come when he did.

"Nice!" He petted Delilah's flank, then reached behind and squeezed my ass. I withdrew from him, removed the condoms we wore, and disposed of them both, then returned to the bedroom to find two glasses of champagne on the bedside table. Delilah wasn't there.

"I'll… uh… I'll just get dressed and be going."

"Why? I paid for the afternoon, and I'm going to want you again."

"I thought… The two glasses of champagne?"

"I don't drink. Delilah's getting me coffee." He studied me through hooded eyes. "I'm not gay."

"No."

"I just like variety in my sex life."

"Yes." I climbed on the bed beside him, but being careful not to touch him. He ran a palm over my chest, tugging gently on the nipple ring I wore. I arched into his touch.

"Here you go, sugar." Delilah came in with a cup of coffee.

While he drank his coffee, Delilah did things with a mouthful of champagne… Before long she had us both hard. She fastened a strap-on, a black leather harness with a large black dildo, around her hips, and lubed it up with languid strokes.

The exec growled at me, "I'm fucking you this time."

"Sure." I got on my hands and knees.

Once Delilah was in him, he slammed into me. He fucked hard and fast, groaning as the big dildo fucked him in turn – Delilah didn't spare him anything – but the previous encounter had taken some of the edge off, and he made it last, squeezing first the base of my cock and then his, again and again to stave off our climaxes.

The time after that, I fucked him again, while Delilah changed dildos and fucked me.

The last time was the original formation, Delilah on the bottom, the exec in the middle, me on top.

The afternoon had worn into the evening. My legs were like rubber, and I could barely walk to gather up my clothes. The exec grinned at me and slipped some folded bills into the front pocket of my trousers.

"Thanks." He tucked bills into the cleavage of the silk robe Delilah had put on and kissed her cheek.

"Sure thing, sugar."

"I'm going to get some rest. I've got a big meeting tomorrow." He limped into a spare bedroom, not bothering with his clothes.

"Thanks, Sweetcheeks." She gave me my half of the fee.

"Any time, Delilah."

I went up the stairs, my own gait a little gimpy. I was going to feel this for a while, and I decided to take the night off.

The bills the exec had put in my pocket were a tip, and I took them out and counted them, giving a low whistle. I'd gotten good tips before, but this was equal to my fee.

I ran a tub and dumped half a box of Epsom salts into it, then settled into the water to soak out the worst of the aches.

I liked what I'd done, and that confused me. I reached for the phone extension we kept near the tub and called Tim, the one man I knew I could trust to give me the facts.

"I've always bottomed, Tim."

"And you want to top again? I think, if things had been different for you, Sweets… I think you would have been a good top. You may find other johns who want to bottom. Remember what you like, and give it to them. I won't say 'try to give it to them.' This is our business… your business," he corrected himself. "… and you'll do a good job. Besides, it's nice to have a change of pace."

"Do you and Cris… " My mind boggled. Tim had been the quintessential top. He'd had men in authority coming to him, paying him to fuck them. Even one politician whose homophobic tirades got him reelected on a regular basis.

"Yeah. When Cris is in the mood to top, I let him. Why wouldn't I? But we're out of the business now, Sweets, and we can do what we want. You'll have that too one day."

"Yeah. Sure." But I doubted it. "Thanks, Tim."

I pushed it out of my mind, but the next time that exec was in town, he had Delilah call me, and the time after that, as well. He had me wear dress whites and addressed me as Lieutenant Commander, while Delilah wore a Marine uniform, and he called her Lieutenant Colonel. For what he was paying us, we'd have got on all fours and barked like a dog.

****

Things changed.

John's father died, and he met someone while teaching a night course in real estate at the same junior college where I'd got my degree in computer accounting. He fell in love with him, decided to come out of the closet, and they moved in together.

"This will have to be our last time, Sweetcheeks."

"I'm sorry to hear that, John. I've enjoyed our times together. Would you like to bring your friend around? I'll do the two of you. A farewell gift."

"You'd do that?" He had once mentioned that a threesome was his favorite, most illicit fantasy. "Thank… " His expression became dejected, and he turned bright red. "I… I can't. Bradford doesn't approve of paying for sex. He doesn't even know about you! Sweetcheeks, you won't try to get in touch with me, or… or… "

"Butt into your life?" I squeezed his arm gently. "I won't. I wish you only the best, John."

"Thank you. You've been so good to me. We had some good times, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did. Hold onto my number, okay? If you ever want me, Wednesday at noon will be yours."

"But Bradford… "

Bradford sounded like a stuffed shirt. I hope he appreciated what he was getting. "You can tell him you're my real estate agent. It's the truth."

His face brightened. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that! Could we… uh… have one more time?"

"Sure, John."

Afterwards, he dressed, hugged me, and walked out of my life.

Delilah met a man who asked her to move in with him. In spite of his promises that she could leave the business, she was still tricking.

Tom and Mike decided to start their own stable. I gave them their share of the profits, and they moved out to Los Angeles. The Kid went with them. Tangerine had long since decided he liked drugs more than the comfort of our family, such as it was, and the last I'd heard, was hustling on 7^th Avenue in Manhattan.

Our stable thinned out to three – Paul and I, the last of the original boys, and Spike, who Paul had found on the street, another kid whose family had thrown him out like so much trash.

"He followed me home," Paul murmured as he made him a sandwich. Spike looked up quickly, brushed the platinum hair out of his eyes, and tried to look tough.

Paul fed him, made sure he had a bath and washed the mascara and eyeliner from his eyes, then put him to bed in his room, much the same as he'd done for me all those years ago.

We stood in the doorway watching as the boy slept.

"Poor kid. Would you believe he bleached his hair because some john told him he looked like Spike on Buffy, and that would make him look more like Spike?"

"Is that why he was sucking in his cheeks all night?" I shook my head. "Were we ever that young, Paul?"

"I'm gonna stay in tonight, Sweets. Okay? I… I don't want to leave him alone."

"Sure, Paul." I made sure I had keys and money in my pocket. "I'll be back in the morning."

"Who're you seeing tonight?" He grinned when I told him. "Lucky dog! I've been dying for him to call me."

"Want to take him?"

He gazed at the boy in his bed, a little smile on his lips. "No. Not this time, Sweets. You've got your phone?"

I patted the cell phone clipped to my belt and left to keep my 'date.'

****

The new year didn't start well. A few days into it, we were stunned by the news that Delilah Carson was found murdered in her condo, stabbed numerous times. We'd worked a threesome with her just a week or so before. Her boyfriend had set it up. She'd been uncertain of her john, unusual for a woman with her experience, and wanted the encounter filmed, so Pretty Boy and Spike worked with her, and I hid out in the crawlspace and filmed it. Afterwards, she'd laughed at her nerves. 'Davy was so jumpy about this; it must have rubbed off on me." But she'd agreed when I'd suggested making copies of the tape for insurance.

I'd never had the chance to give her the tapes.

Her boyfriend was the prime suspect, even after his body was discovered on the sidewalk at the back of her building, having apparently thrown himself from the roof. "Remorse!" the newspapers decreed. They had a field day, going into loving detail over the many knife wounds, any one of which could have been fatal, and all of which had bled profusely.

Spike was as white as his hair. Paul looked sick. I was feeling hollow myself.

"Right," I said after her funeral. "We're going out of town. On vacation."

"Disney World?" Spike asked hopefully, color coming back to his cheeks.

Disney World was in Florida. "How about Disneyland instead?"

"I've never flown!"

"That's settled then." I booked us a flight out to California. "Do you want to stay in the Park or in Anaheim?"

"Can we stay in the Park? It's gotta be more expensive, but… "

"We can do whatever we want."

After the first couple of days of touring the various parks, Paul and Spike began to find excuses to stay at the hotel.

"You don't mind, do you, Sweets?"

"Just make sure you leave the room long enough for housekeeping to make the bed."

"Why? We're just gonna mess it up again?" Spike tried for tough, but he fell short of it, hitting adorably naughty instead, but that seemed to be fine with Paul.

I laughed and shook my head, and went back to Main Street, USA. I really loved that place. I bought a cone at one of the ice cream parlors along Main Street and sat at an outside table, watching the crowds stroll by.

"Excuse me." A young man stood beside my table. Although he was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, I could tell by his bearing that he was military. "All the tables are taken. Do you mind if I share yours?"

"Help yourself." I liked the way the shirt fit over his torso.

"Thanks. My sundae was starting to melt." He sat down and took a spoonful. "I didn't realize it would be so crowded."

"This is the normal state of affairs for Disneyland. The best time to come is during Magic Mornings."

"Oh? What are they?"

"If you're staying at one of the Park hotels, you can get in before the Parks are open to the general public."

His face fell. "I'm staying at the Naval base."

"In San Diego? I had a feeling you were a military man."

A blush colored his cheeks. He ducked his head and took another spoon of ice cream.

"You've got some whipped cream on your nose." I leaned forward with a napkin and wiped it off.

"Thanks." He looked away, but not before I saw a small smile, and the blush rise up again. He did blush easily.

"My name is Paul," I said, stretching my hand across the table. We shook hands, and I grinned to myself. What would Paul think of me appropriating his name?

"Hi, Paul. My name is… er… Bud."

A horse-drawn streetcar was passing by, and I watched as kids bounced in excitement and parents smiled indulgently. I took a lick of my strawberry cone and glanced at my companion, to find his eyes fastened on my mouth.

I took another lick and wondered if I were in the mood for a busman's holiday. "Have you been to Disneyland before, Bud?"

"A long time ago, when I was a kid. It's changed so much. How about you?"

"This is my first time."

"Oh! Maybe I could show you around?"

"Sure. It's more fun doing stuff with someone else."

He gave me a shy smile, pulled a map from his back pocket, and spread it on the table.

We went on the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, waited two hours on line for the Indiana Jones Adventure – that was worth it if only because he kept clutching my arm in the dark and ducking his head against my shoulder – then strolled from Adventureland to Tomorrowland and rode the cars of Autopia.

"Do you want to go on Space Mountain?"

"Um… " He was suddenly pale.

"Or we could go to New Orleans Square and see if we can find the Haunted Mansion from there, if you'd rather?"

His sigh was relieved. "The Haunted Mansion, if you don't mind."

We walked back. I bought him a set of Mickey Mouse ears, and he bought me one. We entered the Haunted Mansion, and this time we took advantage of the dark to hold hands.

Bud was laughing when we stepped out into the dimming sunlight. "Oh! I didn't realize the time."

I glanced at my watch. "Do you have to go yet?"

"No." There seemed to be a hint of defiance in that once word.

"Come on, then. The Blue Bayou is right this way, and I've had dinner reservations since this morning."

His cheeks pinked. "Dinner sounds good." But he swallowed when he opened the menu. "Maybe we should go someplace else?"

"Isn't there anything on the menu that appeals to you?"

"It's not that." He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. "It's all a la carte! I… I didn't expect it to be this expensive!"

"Don't worry about it. My treat." I could se