Chapter 4 – Chapter 4

Avril stood at the door, watching what he assumed were the last of the Thanksgiving dinner guests, the art professor, Lawrence Shelton, and music instructor, Cory Kavanagh, off. He turned and looked around the living room. Brad certainly had his work cut out for him getting this straightened up tomorrow, he thought. Good thing Brad was neat. It was always important that one of a couple be good that way.

He looked up in surprise as he saw the rent-boy, Peter Lambert, nearly stumble into the living room from the conservatory. He was wearing his jeans, but his T-shirt was hanging on his bare shoulder—and were those his briefs tucked under his arm? He was looking good—very sexy. If Avril had any interest in topping . . . but he didn't. Avril had forgotten the young man, although he had his fee for the evening in his pocket. His hand went to his pocket to ensure the wad of money was still there. He wondered if the young man had earned his keep. It had been Brad's idea to bring him in for the party.

"Peter," he said. "You're still here."

"Yes, but I'm leaving now," Lambert answered. Over the course of the evening, he'd taken four of the five tops who had attended the party, only missing out on the novelist, who Peter had been most interested in shagging. He'd even been given an address card by that big photographer guy, There was a possibly to be paid bigger bucks for it—to appear in a movie or two. "I just needed . . . I wondered . . ."

"Yes, I can pay you now, while you're here." Avril took the bills out of his pocket and handed them over. "Have you seen Brad? I haven't seen him in a while."

"No, I've been busy," Lambert said, resisting the urge to turn and look back into the conservatory. "It's been interesting. If you ever need me again—"

"Yes, yes, thank you. Brad will know how to get in touch with you, I'm sure."

He walked the young man to the front door.

In the conservatory, crouched between the spread thighs of the Jewish student in the English department, Jacob Bernstein, who was on his back on the chaise lounge, moaning softly, Brad Baylor stopped in mid thrust to listen to the conversation between Avril and Peter in the living room. As Avril was walking the rent-boy to the front door, Brad finished Bernstein, his hand held over the young man's mouth to muffle his reaction to being stroked off hard and deep.

Pulling off Bernstein's body and reaching down for his trousers, Brad hissed, "Leave quietly by the door out into the garden. When I want you again, I'll find you."

"Yes, please," Bernstein whimpered, his eyes full of worship.

There was an entrance from the conservatory into the kitchen, and Brad, fully dressed, was there, working over a sink of pots and pans, when Avril found him.

"Well, I think that went well, don't you?" Hammond asked, coming up behind Brad and kissing him on the back of the neck. He wrapped his hands around Brad, one hand descending to the man's crotch.

"Yes, very well indeed," Baylor answered.

"I'm tired, but not too tired," Hammond whispered. "Leave this for tomorrow and I'll meet you in bed."

When Hammond was finished in the bathroom and padded out into the bedroom, naked, he found that Brad was already in bed, turned to the wall on his side, and snoring up a storm.

Oh, well, Avril thought, he enjoyed morning sex as much as nighttime sex. He lay there, feeling very smug with himself. As far as he could see, his ploy was working. He'd seen Brad with Troy. He could tell that Brad wanted to stick it to Troy. It had been hell trying to keep Brad in line, but Avril would do everything he could do accomplish that. He wanted to settle down in a monogamous relationship at this time of his life—and he knew that Brad was the one he wanted to settle down with. Troy was vulnerable, just coming out of a grieving situation. Avril had thought hard about how to shunt Brad off from going after Troy. Avril's old friend, Gideon, also had needed a new relationship. All in all, Avril thought that putting Troy and Gideon together would settle Brad down. He went to sleep masturbating himself and thinking of what Gideon and Troy might be doing at the moment. It was a godsend that Gideon had needed a ride home.

* * * *

It was still in the dark of the night when Gideon woke in his bed to arousal. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't in bed alone, as he had been for the past couple of months. Someone—Troy he quickly realized—was below him, sucking his cock and balls and running his hands up and down on Gideon's inner thighs. Gideon contentedly sighed and folded his arms behind his head. He would give Troy free rein for a few moments, but he remembered what the young man had said—that what he wanted was a partner who dominated him.

When Troy had moved up Gideon's body, straddled his pelvis, and positioned his hole on Gideon's cock head, and descended on the shaft, Gideon gave Troy a few moments of control. But then he grasped Troy's hips in his hands and took over control, slamming Troy up and down on his buried cock while he counterthrust up with his hips. Troy cried out in ecstasy as he flopped around under Gideon's full control, riding the cock like he was riding a bull—which, to Troy's delight, was exactly what he felt he was doing.

Hours later, in daylight now, Gideon woke again to the sound of a hammer hitting a nail head into wood just outside his bedroom window. Once again he initially was disoriented. He reached out with both hands, searching for another body—at first thinking Penny, but quickly changing to an image of Troy. But he was alone in the bed. He felt the sting of loss.

As he became fully conscious, though, he figured out that someone was outside his window, repairing the broken shutter. With surging hope, he connected Troy's absence with the repairing of the shutter—and he hoped to hell that that meant what he wished for it to mean. To hell with resenting Avril's sure satisfaction that his ploy had worked. Happy Thanksgiving after all.