Desperate Enemies 3

by Adam Carpenter

  “What's on your mind?” Rich asked.

  “What makes you think. . . shit, why bother. You're good at reading people.”

  “Your eyes, they may be a beautiful brown, but somehow I can see through them.”

  “It's last night, all that stuff that came out. Who knew Eldon Court had such a history?”

  “Still doesn't solve our problem.”

  “That's what I wanted to talk about.”

  “How so?”

  “I offered to sell my house to Danvers Converse.”

  Rich almost spit out his coffee. “You did what?”

  “And then I slept with Troy Saunders.”

  Good thing he'd set his cup aside. “The kid?”

  “He's no kid anymore,” Paolo said. “He picked me up at the Bayside's patio bar, didn't even know who I was or what my connection was to his. . . guardian. He was the first guy I slept with since Aaron. And I know, it may seem like I didn't wait that long to get my rocks off, but I've been so down, so confused about how to move forward, I just wanted a release. . . I wanted out. Out from Eldon Court and all the trouble—I mean, look at all that its cost me. As for the sex, I was feeling the booze and heck, he was cute and. . .”

  “You don't have to explain yourself to me,” Rich said with a noticeable pause, images of the two of them engaged in sweaty, urgent sex. Not just them but other images, of Aaron, of Parker, the cute nurse from the hospital, all of them playing to his pleasures, everyone but Marc. “I'm not exactly Mr. Pure. What I don't understand is why you're telling me all this, and why now?”

  “Like I said, it's about what was said last night. What Gerald Green mentioned about being true to ourselves, to stop all the cheating and lying. Only by banding together can we defeat Converse. . . I know we've all tried, but we've let things get in the way. We may be under siege from the outside, but we've also been captive to our desires. Four gay couples and one hot stranger in Parker St. John living in close proximity, the pool parties, the booze, lots of exposed skin, we've enjoyed ourselves—almost to the point of self-destruction. Look at Sawyer and Dane, their lives were very nearly destroyed by their secrets.”

  “I agree, we can all do better,” Rich said. “Where do we start?”

  “With me coming clean. About what I know.”

  Silence settled between the two of them, Rich feeling the room darken. Either clouds had moved in, hiding the sun, or his pupils had narrowed with the notion of oncoming bad news. He swallowed the last of his coffee, pushed the cup out of the way with too much force, watching as it slid to the floor and shattered.

  “Okay, I'll take that as an omen,” Rich said, “so, Paolo, spill it.”

  “It's about Marc.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “Those jogs he goes on, he's not really jogging.” Paolo paused, Rich said nothing. “He's fucking Parker.”

  Rich heard the words, felt them bounce off his skin as though they couldn't possibly be true, they could not penetrate the thick muscles or the pelt upon his chest. Yet his heart suddenly beat faster, a band of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Marc. . . and Parker? You've not serious. I mean, I know I'm a bastard and a cheat but Marc is good, he'd never give it thought, much less be tempted by. . .” Then his jaw clamped up. Marc's distance, his anger at Rich—was revenge really a part of his make-up, or had Rich created it with his own betrayals? The night of the gallery opening, Rich and Parker had indulged in a power struggle of sex; it had meant nothing beyond wanting to assume control of the battle for Eldon Court. He pictured that beast, so hairy, his huge cock so thick. . . there was no doubt Parker loved showing off his hot body to anybody who would look, but would Marc really give in to his advances?

  “He wouldn't,” Rich said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Where is Marc now?” Paolo asked.

  “I haven't seen him yet this morning,” Rich said. “I assumed he was out for a jog. . .”

  Just then Rich shot up from the table, his bare feet stepping on a sharp piece of the cracked mug. Blood oozed from the fresh wound, but he didn't stop, not for the pain, not for the crimson trail he was leaving in his wake. Anger fueling him, he headed out the front door and down the porch stairs. Paolo gave chase, calling out his name, but Rich ignored him as he strode determinedly down the cul-de-sac. Gone from his mind was the fact that he was nearly naked, but if what Paolo had said was true then what Rich was about to discover had him decidedly in the category of over-dressed.

  * * * *

  “I came to say good-bye, you know. . . to this.”

  “This?”

  “You know what I mean. . . this, us, what we've been doing.”

  “You can't even say it,” said Parker St. John.

  “What's the point, Parker? It's over. Even you said it couldn't last.”

  “That was a couple weeks ago,” he said, “and since then you and I have done ‘this’ even more, you sneaking out of your house anytime you wanted, telling Rich you were going for a jog and Rich afraid to question you because he feels guilty over what's he's done to you. Not the actions of a man who wants to stop.”

  “Regardless of what we've both said, this time it's for real. Parker, I need to get my life back.”

  “Or start it all over again,” Parker said, moving closer to Marc, making contact with him for the first time since his arrival just minutes ago. With his hand upon Marc's chin, he pointed it upwards so their eyes could meet. Marc stepped back, trying to avoid Parker's easy seduction.

  They were situated in the morning-lit living room at Number Two, the place of many of their physical encounters over the past couple of weeks. Not that they avoided the bedroom, but often they couldn't wait, their passion taking control the moment Marc walked through the door. Marc was dressed now in his typical jogging shorts and T-shirt, Parker wrapped in a terrycloth robe, having just emerged from the shower. His thick hair was tousled in a playful, wet look, the slit of the robe opened to reveal the thick carpet that covered his chest. If this had been yesterday morning, all clothes would have been discarded already, Parker would have been thrusting inside him by now, Marc crying out from the pain of being impaled by that thick cock. . . the memory made Marc feel suddenly woozy, knowing he could transform those images into reality with just one word, one nod of his head. But he'd promised himself, after hearing what Gerald Green had said last night, that he would no longer cheat on Rich, even as he'd fallen asleep and recalled Rich saying the same thing, only to be in Parker's arms just hours later.

  “Come on, Marc, don't do this to me, not this morning. . . do you have any idea how hard it was seeing you sitting next to Rich all last night at Paolo's house, like you were back together? The only thing that got me through that endless meeting was the fact that you would be here this morning, that you would be in my bed.”

  Marc felt his throat constrict, trying hard to swallow the feelings that welled up in him. It had started out as a way to get back at Rich, letting Parker have his way with him, but as the weeks had progressed Marc had felt himself looking forward to each encounter with his sexy, hairy lover, relishing the way Parker made him feel, when he entered him, when he came inside him. Had he developed actual feelings for him? And if so, how could he just dump him so unceremoniously?

  . Before Marc could respond to the man's pleas, Parker leaned in for a kiss, his tongue prying open Marc's mouth with deep passion. Marc reached up, wanting to push him away, his fingers instead accidentally grazing against Parker's exposed chest. The sensation of that thick, plentiful fur sent shock waves throughout Marc's body, weakening him at the knees. Even as he felt the soulful kiss from Parker, he also felt the man smile over the realization he'd conquered him.

  Marc fell to the sofa, quickly tossing off his shirt, his shorts. To hell with the footwear; he just opened up his legs, spreading wide his pulsing ass, knowing just what was coming and suddenly desiring nothing more. Watching with nervous anticipation as Parker shed himself of his robe, he revealed his nake
d, furry self, his huge cock jutting out from the curly patch of pubes at his crotch.

  “Is this what you want?” Parker said, his hand stroking his cock.

  “Yes, yes, you know it, that massive cock,” Marc pleaded, telling himself one more time, just one last time. . . I want him. Oh, I need him. Just like Rich, he'd promised no more and then had gone ahead and cheated anyway. Two can play that game.

  “Tell me,” Parker said, his breath heavy. “What ‘this’ is that you want.”

  “You, I want you. I want your huge cock and your fucking sexy body, all of you, your furry chest, that's what I have to have, and I have to have it now.” Marc paused, smiling, wiping a pool of drool from his open mouth. “Fuck me, Parker, pierce me. . .”

  “That's what I want to hear, Marc, I'll take you now, and I'll take you forever,” he said, “Just as you've pierced my heart. Yes, Marc, you are mine now, all mine.”

  And before Marc could even process those words, words filled with such possessiveness, he felt the hard thrust of the sheathed cock penetrate him, the tip, the shaft, shoving themselves deep inside his lubed hole. He let out a sharp cry and exhaled deeply, trying to suck down fresh air as the beast above smothered him. “Yes, yes,” Parker called out, his voice guttural, even as his body heaved, hard, not once and not twice but repeatedly, the thick cock widening Marc's ass, filling him. Marc, eyes closed, hands reaching up, grabbing at Parker, at his body and his hair, felt every inch inside him, and while colors exploded behind his closed lids, his heart knew that something wrong. As he took each powerful thrust, words reverberated inside his brain, about love and about betrayal and about trust, about what was to happen after Parker exploded. Had he really said that Marc had pierced his heart, was it possible that Parker St. John had fallen in love with him? Did a man who put revenge ahead of all else truly know how to open his heart? Was sex just a form of power with him, had he used his body to such physical demands that he was lacking the emotional component?

  Marc's eyes flew open, in time to see a fierce expression on Parker's face, reddened, nearly angry. It was like his body was here, but his mind was elsewhere. Just then Marc felt a sharp pain; Parker had thrust his body so hard he'd lost his balance and his cock went sliding out, impaling itself against Marc's smooth cheek. He howled in pain, refocused, then thrust again, this time driving hard inside Marc.

  “Oww, Parker, wait. . . stop. . .”

  Parker just roared with power, his thick body pummeling the smaller man beneath him. Sweat dripped from his face, dampening the thick mat of hair on his chest, a sight that would have normally had Marc shooting his load, but instead he found himself pushing against that chest, the abundance of hair now as unsightly as Parker himself. He'd gone all animal. The passion was gone, this was just sex, power. . . ownership.

  “Take it, take it, yeah, that's it. . .” he said with another angry thrust, “take every inch of my huge cock, yeah, now, more, grab me, grab my body. . .”

  But Marc had let his hands drop to his side, realizing there was no way to fight the man above him. It was easier to just lay there, limp as his cock, and wait until Parker had completely satisfied himself. As he waited out Parker's inevitable orgasm, Marc looked about the room, at the walls and ceiling, picturing whatever violence might have happened inside Number Two all those years ago, wondering if it was sex related as well. Men, women, they were different when it came to sex, whether from passion or desire of being engulfed in their own fiery needs, it was all consuming. It was never less shocking that an act so closely connected to conception could also bring such destruction, whether to a soul or a life itself.

  Yes, death had happened in this room, Marc's mind flashing back to the stains he'd seen on these walls... the secret of this house, it had to explain all that had been happening. They had to finally unlock it, and perhaps they could save themselves.

  Marc broke from his reverie as he heard Parker's roar, the wild animal above him at last reaching his climax, and he prepared himself for the final thrust.

  “Grab me, yeah, Marc, I can't come until I feel your hands grabbing at me.”

  Resigned, wanting. . . this over, Marc wrapped his body around Parker's, legs encased against that hairy ass, fingernails digging into his strong back, grabbing at whorls of thick hair that spread from his shoulders to his upper back. He yanked hard and Parker bellowed and then thrust with all his might and at last he cried out and his cock exploded; Marc feet ounces of come shoot out, the big head of Parker's cock expanding with each burst. Then, as Parker raised himself up, Marc noticed that his own cock was hard again, purely a physical reaction, and when Parker took hold of it and rubbed it against his furry belly, Marc felt climax build up inside him. As much as he tried to deny the explosion coming his way, wishing he could somehow silence it, come flew out of his cock, shooting against Parker's chest, his arms. Drops clung to the thick wiry hair.

  “I told you,” Parker said, “you're mine; there's no way you can deny how you feel now. Tell me, Marc, tell me you love me.”

  “Yes, Marc, tell him, tell Parker St. John how much you love being fucked by him, how much you love him.”

  Both men turned to find Rich North standing before them, dressed only in a pair of tight black shorts.

  “Rich. . .” Marc said, his voice fading after just one word.

  Parker grinned. “Well, Rich, come to join us, have you? You're a bit over-dressed, if you can't tell.”

  Parker slid his cock out of Marc, pulling off the condom. Drops of oozy come leaked out, landing on the carpet, embedding themselves as though forever a stain on the house. His cock, still hard, seemed almost accusatory, pointing toward Rich.

  “You fucking bastard,” Rich said.

  Marc hated to admit it, but he didn't know which of them he was talking to. All he knew was that guilt and shame, feelings of unworthiness, washed over him and he could barely look at the man he'd claimed to have loved, the man whom he'd betrayed. It didn't matter what Rich had done to him, it was Marc who had to live with what he'd done and realized that he was no longer the innocent victim. His destruction was complete, as naked as he was.

  But the confrontation was as over as quickly as it had begun, as Rich, wiping at tears, just retreated from the house at Number Two Eldon Court, one more the tragic scene unfolding that devastated the lives of those affected. Marc stared first at the door, watching as it slammed shut, then gazed over with horror at Parker.

  “What have I done?”

  “He'll never take you back,” Parker said, “not know, not when he's seen us in action. He saw the way I made you come, the power that erupted from you, the passion.”

  Marc visibly blanched. “No, you're wrong. . . and Rich, whatever happens. . . that doesn't mean you get me.”

  “I already possess you, Marc,” he said, “the only thing left to do is leave Number Five, come live with me.”

  Marc laughed, the sound hollow in the room, echoing in his empty heart. “Ha. I can't even live with myself.”

  * * * *

  Whether it was the revelation of the sexual relationship between Parker St. John and Marc Anderson or the ones made by Gerald Green, events on Wonderland had reached a crescendo, and within each of the beautiful Victorian houses on Eldon Court, storylines were converging. . .

  At Number One, Dane and Sawyer, spent from making love all afternoon, settled in for a night of looking at wedding invitations via moonlight.

  “I like this one,” Dane said.

  “I like whatever you like,” Sawyer said, and that's when they put aside the invitations and once again began to make love. They kissed passionately and moments later, they wasted no more time, with Dane entering Sawyer with one quick thrust.

  “I love you more than the world,” Sawyer said.

  “Okay, so I'll say universe,” Dane said with another eager push of his hard cock. They climaxed together, their lives as entwined as their sweaty bodies.

  At Number Two, Parker St. John paced the mai
n floor, trying to figure out what his next step was. Marc had left in shame moments after Rich had discovered them fucking, and, frustrated, he'd gone upstairs and jerked off violently, stroking his huge cock, grabbing at the thick hair that coated his hard body in defiant anger, feeling as empty as his balls after he'd shot a thick load of come into his open palm. Far from being satiated from his explosion, he picked up his mobile phone and dialed. She answered on the first ring.

  “Rose, the time has come,” he said breathlessly, “I want what's mine and I'm tired of waiting.”

  He heard the caution in her voice even before she spoke. “Be careful, Parker dear, I warned you that this game might not turn out how you hoped,” she said, “Danvers Converse has been manipulating you since the moment he contacted you, using you. He cares for no one, not even himself. I've only intervened because I love you.”

  He thought of Marc, gone from his life. “You're the only one,” he said. “Besides, from this point on I don't care. Whatever happens, happens. It's over.”

  At Number Three, Paolo was flipping through photo albums, remembering all the good times he had spent with Aaron, his heart swelling as he gazed lovingly at his smiling, happy face, both of them unaware of the tragic fate that awaited him. Paolo sipped at his third glass of red wine, wondering if he could live in this house any longer or whether he really could go through with selling it to Danvers Converse. A ring of his doorbell surprised him at this late hour.

  “Sorry, I hope I'm not disturbing you. . .,” he heard as he opened the door.

  “Troy?”

  “I didn't know you lived here. . . on Eldon Court,” he said, “Not until I overheard Danvers talking on the phone just hours ago at the Bayside. I think I can help you.”

  Paolo admitted him and the two embraced tentatively, like uncertain lovers. Pouring his unexpected guest some wine from the near-empty bottle, he and Troy talked, and they talked some more, about Danvers Converse and about Aaron, about past regrets and rewritten futures and before long they were joined by mutual sorrow, emotions giving way to physical demands. They kissed hungrily, tongues exploring, lips meshing, Paolo unbuttoning Troy's shirt and licking at his hairy chest, and soon they were upstairs, albeit in the spare bedroom, and Troy was entering him with his hard cock, filling Paolo with urgent life. He climaxed loudly and Troy followed suit, nail marks on his back as Paolo gripped him tight.