by Ryan Field
Avi furrowed his eyebrows and made a face. “Why do they always have to look like Ben Stein?” he said.
"Because that's life,” Harris said. “Now go in there and amuse him with your Facebook events, and your little tweets, and your New Age gay greeting cards. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."
While Avi walked into the living room, Harris placed his palm on the small of Yves's back and said, “Don't worry about your talented little assistant, Marco. I'll take very good care of him for you.” Then he led Yves into the living room, guiding him as if Yves were lost and couldn't find his way home.
Marco pressed his lips together and watched them walk away, wondering what Harris Wolfe had planned for Yves. Harris didn't befriend people unless there was a reason. While he watched them, Jane Francis walked by carrying a tray of canapes. She looked up at Marco and tilted her head, and then she nodded as if she could read his mind.
A few hours later, while his guests were still quietly mingling and the party was beginning to wind down, Marco sat on the piano bench next to a young man playing the piano and requested a song. It was a dark, depressing song and he wasn't even sure of the title. Marco was on his sixth martini by then. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were glossy, and his lips felt numb. He didn't drink this much very often. When he did, it was usually because something was bothering him.
After the pianist played the same dreary song six times, Jane Francis carried a cup of black coffee into the living room and forced it in Marco's face. Marco was still sitting on the piano bench, staring into his seventh martini. He lifted his head, stared at the coffee cup, and waved his hand. Jane Francis waited a moment, then frowned and took the coffee back into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Frazier walked up to the piano and leaned over so he could speak quietly to Marco. “A few of the guests are starting to fall asleep,” he said. “Maybe we could listen to something with a little more life.” He didn't sound angry, but he wasn't joking either.
"What's wrong?” Marco asked, with a slurred voice. “Is our boy getting tired? I'm sure it's way past his bedtime. Maybe you should take him up to the nursery and tuck him into his crib. You could even sing him a lullaby and give him something to suck on.” He was still mad Frazier had referred to Yves as their boy.
Before Frazier could reply, Edgar walked up to the piano and asked, “Marco, do you have any Alka Seltzer?” His palm was pressed to his large round stomach and his complexion looked a little green.
Marco stood up, balancing his martini, and put his arm around Edgar's shoulder. “You poor old boy,” Marco said. “You have acid reflux, don't you? I'll bet it was that Avi guy who gave it to you, the one who came with Harris tonight. I'm surprised old Harris can even walk after being with a young guy like that."
"Yes,” Edgar said. “I have acid reflux.” He ignored the comment about Avi. The old ones like Edgar, with dirty minds and less-than-honorable intentions, never admitted they were chicken hawks.
"Come on,” Marco said. “I have plenty of Alka Seltzer in the kitchen. I'll take good care of my sweet Edgar. Because I love my Edgar so much.” Marco knew how much Edgar liked to be flattered and babied.
Edgar smiled. He patted Frazier on the arm and said, “I know he loves me. And that's all that really matters. Good friends who love each other."
When they were in the kitchen, Marco poured a glass of water and dropped two little white tablets into the glass. Though he'd had too many martinis already, Marco knew exactly what he was doing and he was far from drunk. He knew he had to get rid of Yves. He had to get the slithering viper out of his house and out of his life before it was too late. So While Edgar drank the glass of fizzling water, Marco put his arm around Edgar's shoulders and asked for a small favor. “Would you find a new position for my assistant, Yves?"
"I thought he liked working for you,” Edgar said.
"He does, but I'm afraid there's just not enough for him to do around here,” Marco said. “And his true love is really the theater, not modeling. You know so many theater people. I'm sure there's some kind of a position you can find for him in your office, something that would keep him busier than he is here. He's such a dear sweet boy. I hate to lose him, but I also hate see his talents go to waist.” He knew Yves had no interest in the theater at all.
Edgar smiled and hugged him. “I'm sure there is something I can do for him,” he said. “And I'd like to ask a little favor of you."
Marco smiled; there was always a catch. He knew he'd have to pay back Edgar for this favor, but he didn't know it would be this soon. He stroked Edgar's neck. “What can I do for you? Just tell me and I'll do it.” He didn't really care. He'd do anything to get rid of Yves.
"I'm helping Jasper out next week,” Edgar said. “We're auditioning a new back-up model for you. It's for Frazier's next show, and it would be a great help to have you there to model first so we can compare him to you."
"Why are they auditioning for a new back-up model?” Marco asked. This was the sort of thing he didn't usually get involved with. He'd always been the star model in all the shows, magazine ads, and everything else that had to do with Frazier's designs. Frazier and Jasper always took care of choosing the other models. He knew the business well, from the designers to the showroom staff, but there was never a need for him to know any of the other models, because he didn't see them until there was a shoot or a show.
"Your back-up model is leaving the company,” Edgar said. “He's getting married and moving to the West Coast to go back to school. He's tired of the business and he wants a life change...whatever that means."
Marco looked down at the kitchen floor and smiled. He knew what this meant better than anyone. Evidently, this model was tired of the competitive world that had always been Marco's life. “I'll be more than happy to be there,” Marco said. “I'll even look forward to it. I've never actually been asked to help with this sort of thing before. What time?"
"Next Wednesday at one in the afternoon."
"And you'll see what you can do about getting my wonderful assistant a new job at your agency?” Marco asked.
"Of course,” Edgar said. Then he pressed his palm to his stomach and let out a loud belch that almost rocked a line of martini glasses on the edge of the kitchen sink.
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Chapter Nine
When the party was almost over, Marco found Frazier, Jasper, Edgar, and young Avi standing in the center hall discussing the impact male models had on the fashion industry and pop culture in general. Marco leaned into the wall and stood there listening, trying not to yawn out loud. He was too drunk to care about anything serious. They were talking about the dedication it took to be a famous model, and how most people didn't have what it took to compete. Marco rolled his eyes. Harris was speaking with a pretentious academic tone. Blah, blah, blah. All he needed was a pipe and a pair of thick eyeglasses. Frazier and Jasper were disagreeing with him about something, but Marco wasn't sure what it was. And Avi, the poor simple soul, just stood there leaning against a table tweeting or twitting something into his cell phone. Marco laughed; it was probably past the poor young boy's bedtime.
"Would you like another drink?” Edgar asked Avi. Edgar couldn't take his eyes off Avi's crotch.
Avi smiled and tilted his head. “I'd just love another drink, Mr. Dupree."
"Then come with me,” Edgar said. “I'll take good care of you."
Marco smiled, because he knew how much old Edgar loved taking care of good-looking young men who ran short in the brains department.
Harris turned and stared at his young date. “You sure do know how to work them,” he said.
"He's a very nice man,” Avi said, “and I'm thirsty.” Then he stood up and followed Edgar to the bar.
When they were gone, Molly and Yves came walking down the hall. Molly was wearing her jacket and she was ready to go home. She was laughing and joking with Yves as if he was her new best friend. It made Marco's stomach turn to see her treati
ng Yves so well. He wanted to grab Yves by the back of the neck and toss him right out the front door.
When Yves saw Marco, he left Molly's side and raced into the hall. “There you are, Marco. Can I get you another drink? Would you like anything?” His voice was soft. He leaned forward and pressed his palms together and smiled.
"Would you please stop treating me like I'm royal Prince Albert?” Marco said, pointing at Yves. “Give me a fucking break already."
Everyone stopped talking and stared.
Frazier squared his shoulders and said, “Unless you're referring to tobacco in a tin can, Marco, there's nothing royal or dignified about the way you've been acting all night.” His voice was deep and stern and he wasn't smiling.
Marco raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips. Frazier protecting Yves twisted his stomach. “I'm sorry, Frazier,” he said. “I didn't mean to frighten our poor boy, Yves, with the F word. I know how delicate he is.” He knew he sounded like a jealous lover, but he felt so disconnected from everyone he didn't care.
"Oh Marco,” Molly said. “This is getting ugly now. Yves has done nothing wrong for you to insult him in public this way."
Harris blinked. “You're absolutely divine when you're like this, Marco. It's just a shame all your fans can't witness the real you."
"I'm sorry, Molly, if my manners aren't up to par,” Marco said, ignoring Harris. “I wasn't fortunate enough to be born into old money, and I didn't go to Smith or Harvard or Princeton. While you were riding around in a little foreign convertible, I was modeling jock straps and thongs to earn a living with my bare ass.” Modeling underwear had made him famous.
Jasper reached for Molly's hand. “It's getting late. I think it's time to go now."
"But the fun is just beginning,” Marco said. “Why would you want to leave now?” Jasper had always been such a milquetoast. Whenever there was the slightest hint of confrontation, Jasper was out the door and down the street. Marco felt like taking Jasper's silky hand and slapping it right across Yves's face.
He would have done just that if Molly hadn't said, “I agree, Jasper. It's past my bedtime. Let's go."
"That's right,” Marco said. “I wouldn't want to disrupt your happy home life.” He wanted to be cruel. He knew Molly and Jasper didn't have sex often. They were the perfect married couple in all other areas, but Jasper had never been an overly sexual man. They had sex about once or twice a month, but Molly would have had it twice a day if she'd had her way.
"Enough, Marco,” Molly said. “I'm tired and you're drunk. You're not bowing to your fans, now you're insulting your friends."
"It's my house and I'll do whatever the fuck I want,” Marco said. He'd been good so far. He hadn't cursed much at all that night. But he was ready to roll up his sleeves and sink right into the gutter now that they were all ganging up on him.
Molly looked into his eyes and pursed her lips, then crossed to where Yves was standing and purposely hugged him right in front of Marco. Yves was frowning and avoiding all eye contact. Molly told him he had done nothing wrong and he shouldn't be upset at all. “I love Marco,” she said, “but sometimes I'd like to kick him right in the ass.” When she was finished hugging Yves, she turned her back on Marco and reached for Jasper's hand.
"I'm going to bed,” Marco said as he started staggering toward the other end of the penthouse. Drunk as he was, he knew if he remained there it would only get worse. And he was the one who would come off looking like the bad guy, not Yves.
"It's about time,” Frazier said, looking the other way.
Marco stopped walking. “Aren't you going to follow me, Frazier?” he asked. “This is when you're supposed to pull down my zipper, take off my pants, and tuck me into bed like a good husband.” He looked at Yves with a nasty grin. “I'll bet Yves would do it. He'd pull down my pants and tuck me into bed. Wouldn't you, Yves?"
"Honestly, Marco,” Molly said.
Yves gave Marco a devoted look and he smiled. “I'll help you to bed, Marco. You know I'd do anything to make you comfortable."
Marco gave him a dead stare. He felt like gagging. His eyes narrowed and his brows pointed down. “Don't. Bother. You've already done enough for me.” He turned to face Frazier. “Happy anniversary, my love."
Frazier looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Then he nodded to the others and followed Marco to bed.
On the way to his bedroom, Marco overheard Molly say good night to Yves. Then he heard Yves say, “You won't forget about what we talked about when we were alone.” There was a desperate sound in Yves's voice Marco hadn't heard before. Usually, Yves just sounded subservient and weak.
"I won't forget,” Molly said with the soft, tender voice she used whenever she felt sorry for someone.
When they were in the bedroom, Frazier slammed the door and stomped to the sitting area in front of the mirrored wall. He leaned into the sofa and kicked off his shoes, ripped off his tie, and dropped his tuxedo jacket on the floor. Marco remained quiet. He hadn't seen Frazier this angry since the last time another designer had pilfered one of his original designs. Frazier's lips were pinched together so tightly his chin was vibrating.
"You acted like a fool tonight, Marco,” Frazier said, breaking the silence. “I'm surprised Molly didn't slap you across the face.” He pulled down his pants and kicked them to the side. Normally, he would have placed them neatly over the sofa.
Marco didn't reply. His back was to Frazier. He was at the edge of the bed removing his own clothes. Though he was still slightly drunk, his penis was semi-erect and he felt like making love. But more than that, he knew he'd acted like an idiot in front of his guests and he wanted to make it up to Frazier by offering him the best anniversary present he could. Marco knew his lover and partner well. He knew what made Frazier's toes curl and he knew how to please him. As lovers, they were complete opposites. Frazier was aggressive and blunt in bed and he didn't have to be in the mood for sex—he was always ready to fill a hole with his dick. Marco was submissive and gentle, and sex was an emotional, romantic event for him. He had to think about what he was doing, and he had to be in the mood to enjoy sex. But when they had sex, Marco always had to be the one to make the first move. Frazier had never been the first one to initiate sex because he hated to be turned down if Marco wasn't in the mood. Though Marco told him it wasn't personal, Frazier's huge ego couldn't deal with being turned down. In the twenty years they had been together, they'd learned how to handle these things. Thankfully, Marco was usually in the mood.
So while Frazier was still complaining about the way Marco had behaved, Marco removed all of his clothes and moved to where Frazier was undressing. Frazier had removed everything but his white boxer shorts. Marco had always joked with him about the fact that he wore boxers instead of briefs. But Marco loved his boxer shorts. He thought they were sexy and masculine, and they made Frazier's hairy legs look adorable. The trait Marco had always found the most sexually appealing about Frazier was that he didn't have the perfect, lean body of a male model. Frazier had body of a real man, with natural definition and a slight amount of untrimmed body hair. He had a good body, but he didn't lift weights and he didn't have washboard abs. When they'd first met, Frazier had reminded Marco of a combination of Kevin Costner and a real professional baseball player, with his deep smooth voice and large strong hands.
Marco reached for Frazier's right arm and lifted it slowly. He guided Frazier's palm to his ass and said, “I love angry sex. We haven't had angry sex in a long time.” The wonderful thing about their relationship was that the sex they shared tended to vary from time to time. They went through periods where it remained the same for long stretches: Frazier would bend Marco over, fuck him hard, and they'd both climax together. But then there were times when Frazier felt a little kinky and he'd ask Marco to wear some type of leather gear, or he'd ask him if they could have sex outside on the rooftop deck in broad daylight where anyone could see them. The sex Marco had always enjoyed the most was the angry sex.
This didn't happen often either, because Frazier wasn't usually angry with him.
Frazier pressed his palm into Marco's ass and said, “I felt like slapping you tonight myself. You were awful. And you gave Harris a good floor show."
Marco looked into his eyes. He lifted his right eyebrow and said, “Slap me now, Frazier. I was very bad tonight. Slap me hard."
Frazier stared for a moment, then he bit his bottom lip and gave Marco a hard crack on the ass.
The slap stung; his ass tingled. Marco's body jerked and he pressed his palms against Frazier's naked chest for support. Frazier didn't have bushy chest hair, but his entire torso was covered with a fine layer of dark brown hair. Marco stuck out his tongue, leaned forward, and licked the center of Frazier's chest.
Frazier slapped his ass again, and this time he slapped so hard Marco fell into Frazier's body. He wrapped his arms around Frazier's shoulders and sighed. Marco had a high level of tolerance for pain, and getting a few hard slaps on the ass excited him.
"You were very bad tonight,” Frazier said in a deep voice.
Marco licked his chest. “Are you still mad?” he asked. He knew Frazier wasn't really mad. He could see Frazier's erection poking through the cotton fabric of his boxer shorts. If Frazier had still been angry with him, he would have pushed him away and gone right to bed.
"I'm fucking pissed off,” Frazier said, slapping Marco's ass a third time with both hands. “You acted like a spoiled little bitch. And now you're going to be punished."
Marco arched his back and closed his eyes. They weren't into heavy bondage or discipline. This was just fooling around, and anyone into bondage would have laughed at them. He lowered his left hand and reached down. He slipped his hand through the open fly in Frazier's boxers and wrapped his fingers around Frazier's dick. Frazier's cock was long and thick and rigid, and at the same time soft and warm and familiar. This had been the only dick Marco had had for the last twenty years, and he knew it as well as he knew his own. When he closed his eyes, he could imagine the thick vein that ran from the bottom of the shaft all the way to the head. He'd know the musky smell and the salty taste of Frazier's cock anywhere. He'd sucked it hard and he'd sucked it soft. He'd taken it all the way into his body in every possible position two men could manage.
