Date: Tue, 9 Oct 2007 16:57:49 +1300 (NZDT)
From: Nick Cramer <antinous48@yahoo.co.nz>
Subject: Chris Trousdale my bodyguard, part 4

SATURDAY NIGHT AND SUNDAY MORNING

The 'Chris' in this story is based on Chris Trousdale as he appears in
pictures on his Myspace page -- punkish, in scruffy jeans.  But the story
is purely fiction, and implies nothing about the real Chris Trousdale, his
habits or his sexuality.

This is the last of four instalments.  Comments are welcome, to
antinous48@yahoo.co.nz.  Thanks to the one reader who has commented so far.
But I'm sure there must be other Nifty readers who dream of the seductively
dangerous Chris T as their bodyguard and lover!

_____


The door was locked behind us. Chris and I were in a dimly lit windowless
room that was clearly used by members of 'the Organization' when they
needed to spend the night in the warehouse. The sparse furnishings amounted
to three wooden chairs, a folding card table, a double mattress on the
floor with greyish sheets, a washbasin, a toilet and a shower. Then the
door opened again and Cody poked his head round. He tossed in the shirt and
T-shirt that Chris had taken off, and announced: 'I'll bring you guys
breakfast at 9 in the morning. Have a nice night!' I expected a taunting
leer, but his voice was neutral. Then the door was locked again.

We both surveyed the uninviting room. I looked at Chris, then looked away,
not sure what to say. He broke the silence. 'Thanks, Nick, you saved my
bacon. But you offered too big a price, huh? You can't mess up your banking
career on my account!'

I turned and faced the battered, sweating, gorgeous hunk. He stood with
feet slightly apart, exhausted, his arms hanging loose at his sides. A blue
bruise on his chin and ugly red marks on his abs were visible signs of what
he had just been through. He looked at me, head lowered, uncertain, almost
apologetic. Suddenly I found the words ...

'Chris, you remember what you said to me about being a strong wall to
protect me?  Well, protection goes two ways. I couldn't watch it any more
-- what they were doing to you. So I've bought us some time. But first
things first. You need a shower, and so do I. Let's get in.' And silently I
mouthed the word 'microphones', hoping that my face wasn't turned towards
any hidden camera. Chris looked puzzled, then cottoned on. He grinned and
mouthed 'OK'. We both stripped and stepped inside the shower cubicle.

Chris's naked body, at close quarters -- this wasn't the way I'd hoped to
see it for the first time. But there were compensations. The smell of his
sweat, the sight of his luxuriant pubic hair, his penis nuzzling close to
mine, then the water running off both our bodies ...

'That's better, the running water should drown our voices,' I said quietly.

'Good thinking. But what about the rest of the night? Are we gonna just
... pretend?'  There was a teasing, lopsided grin on Chris's face.'

'What do YOU think, Mr Bellocchio -- Mr Beautiful Eyes!' I replied.

Much happened that night. Suffice to say that the supervisor, listening or
watching, would have known that he had a hold over me if Chris's wellbeing
depended on my actions. But before Chris and I got out of the shower, we
had devised a plan, too.  When Cody brought our breakfast, Chris would show
him a chance to get revenge on Miguel. First Cody would need to call the
supervisor into the room. Then the supervisor would be forced to summon
Miguel ...

At 9.30 the next morning, the trap was prepared. Cody had lured the
supervisor in, and my job was to hold him secure. Cody stood beside
us. Chris, hidden behind the door, was poised to numb Miguel with a karate
chop, then immobilize him in a full nelson.

Miguel was speaking as walked through. 'OK, boss, so what ...' Then he
stopped and and immediately swiveled his head to his left. Chris delivered
the karate chop, but a fraction of a second too late. I ground my teeth --
the supervisor must have signaled with his eyes! The edge of Chris's hand,
instead of landing squarely on the back of Miguel's neck, hit him on the
shoulder. It took Miguel unawares and sent him stumbling, but he was far
from dizzy. Chris managed to get his arms under Miguel's armpits, ready to
clasp his hands behind Miguel's neck for the full nelson. But when Miguel
began to fight back, only Chris's left arm had got properly into position.
Their two right arms flailed and grappled for a second or two. Chris
succeeded in trapping Miguel's upper arm in the crook of his right elbow,
and was struggling to get his hands locked together behind Miguel's
neck. But meanwhile Miguel with his right hand was trying to seize Chris's
left forearm so as to pull it down and thus liberate his own left arm from
Chris's control.  To help keep his left arm in position, Chris had curled
the fingers of his left hand around the back of Miguel's neck. But for how
long could he maintain this hold, against Miguel's dangerous strength?

Sideways to them both, I got a view of them that is etched in my memory,
even though what I was seeing lasted only a few seconds. I saw Miguel from
his left side: his face a rigid mask, his body massive, the bulge of his
pecs and rippling muscles of his flank showing clearly through his
closefitting singlet. Behind him, Chris's left side, shirtless and smooth,
his left elbow bent under Miguel's armpit, forcing Miguel's left arm up and
so rendering it useless -- but only as long as he could maintain his
precarious dominance. I could see the strain in Chris's face: his brow
furrowed, his stubbly jaw clenched tight, his parted lips quivering. Veins
snaking round his bicep and forearm showed how tautly the tanned skin was
being stretched by the proud muscles beneath. The strength and fighting
skills gained in nineteen years of growing up on tough Gotham City streets
-- Chris was calling up all those resources in this desperate struggle. If
there is any justice in the world, I thought, Chris must surely win! But
then I looked across from Chris's body to Miguel's, and my heart sank.
Chris's supple, shapely pecs and abs, whose feel under my caressing fingers
I so vividly remembered -- could they stand up against the Miguel's
physique? A glorious young man was pitting himself against a merciless
more-than-human fighting machine!

Miguel's right hand seized Chris's left forearm and tugged. I saw Chris's
arm jerk, but his elbow did not straighten. His biceps and forearm
continued to squeeze Miguel's upper arm in a vice of bone and muscle. His
hand did not budge from behind Miguel's neck. Then Chris channeled all his
willpower into his strong right arm. He managed to yank it backward again,
wrenching Miguel's grip loose. Trembling with the effort, Chris brought his
right hand closer to his left ... the tips of the middle fingers touched
... I saw triumph dawning in Chris's face as he spread his fingers, ready
to clamp his hands together ...

'NO!' An explosive roar burst from Miguel. Down came his right arm again,
forcing Chris's hands apart. In a lightning-swift move, Miguel seized
Chris's left arm a second time, this time closer to the wrist. He took the
time to wrap his fingers securely around Chris's arm and position his own
arm and shoulder for a more effective second attempt. There was a
pause. Chris's head sagged forward, his cheek against Miguel's shoulder,
his eyes closed, his jaw slack, and I heard him give a long shuddering sigh
of disappointment. Miguel began to smile ...

If Miguel had chosen that moment for the final pull ... But Chris's
fighting spirit wasn't conquered. I saw him raise his chin and give his
head a quick shake, flicking a dangling lock of hair away from his eyes. He
glanced down at his left arm, and I could tell that he was refocussing his
willpower on to maintaining that crucial hold.

The moment came. Miguel pulled sharply downwards. Chris's arm jerked and
shuddered. This time his elbow unbent a little, and his left hand slipped
against the sweaty skin of the back of Miguel's neck. Miguel's left arm
flailed as he attempted to free it. Then the two fighters seemed to reach a
brief stalemate. Chris was frowning, his breathing irregular and
noisy. This time, Chris seemed to be using his right arm differently. His
right hand gripped Miguel's right wrist, pushing upward to counteract
Miguel's pull downward. But I was worried. What Chris was doing might
hamper Miguel, but it didn't look like a way to defeat him -- and sure
enough, with each powerful tug from Miguel, Chris's left hand slipped
further towards being dislodged from Miguel's neck ...

Then I remembered something, and my blood ran cold. Cody! Why wasn't he
helping Chris? I looked across at him. The stocky young thug was watching
the fight intently, a few feet away. His arms were folded and there was a
smile on his lips. Whose side was he on? He must be betraying us -- he was
still with Miguel and the supervisor after all!

Chris saw me look across at Cody, and he saw too my expression of
horror. With a stab of remorse I realized that I had put the same thought
into Chris's head. That thought, on top of what his arm muscles were
suffering -- it was too much. A final tug from Miguel, and Chris's left
hand was grasping only air.

With both his arms now free, Miguel spun round to face Chris: 'It's time
for payback now, buddy -- FULL AND FINAL payback!'

Miguel surveyed Chris contemptuously. Chris was still standing, but
teetering. His arms were bent at his sides, but seemed paralyzed. His chest
heaved as he gasped for breath. In his face as he looked up at Miguel was
sadness, and fear too, but no abject cringing. Then he looked tenderly
towards me and gave a tiny headshake, just like the night before. 'Glad I
met you, Nick ... too bad ...'

While Chris's eyes were still locked on to mine, Miguel's hands closed
around his throat. Chris's head was tilted backward. His knees trembled and
buckled. His hands grasped Miguel's arms, but feebly. His marvelous
sweat-glistening body was forced relentlessly down, down, in defeat. I was
in despair. Though fearing the worst, I couldn't risk letting go of the
supervisor. My sturdy bodyguard and guide, my lover of one night -- I could
do nothing to save him, except preserve in my head images that would be his
memorial during my lifetime: those soft lips, those proud dark nipples, the
luscious contours of that chest and belly, the firm flesh under the smooth
skin ...

Then -- WHAM! Miguel staggered and let go of Chris, who collapsed to the
floor, coughing and spluttering. Intent on Chris, I hadn't noticed Cody
clench his two fists together and bring them down square between Miguel's
shoulder blades -- a pulverizing axhandle blow. Miguel staggered, dazed,
then turned: 'Why, you ...!' But Cody was prepared. Bent low, he suddenly
straightened his body and his right arm so that his knuckles exploded into
Miguel's chin. Miguel's head snapped back and his body keeled over,
straight, like a felled tree. The bully was out cold.

Chris, the supervisor and I all gazed at Cody in amazement. 'Whaddya
waiting for, limey?' Cody said. 'Get those handcuffs out of the boss's
pocket -- I mean the former boss!' Taking them, he dragged the unconscious
Miguel over to the chair where I was holding the supervisor, and brisky
handcuffed Miguel's left wrist to the supervisor's right ankle.

__________


Two hours later, back in my hotel room, Chris knelt naked on the bed,
clenching and unclenching his left hand as, standing behind him, I
inexpertly but gently massaged his left arm and shoulder.

'Ooh!' he winced, as I squeezed his tender bicep. 'Sorry!' I
apologized. 'No, keep going! It's good!' And he turned his face to look up
at me, flashing a brilliant smile. I couldn't resist -- I kissed again
those lips, those eyes, those bristly cheeks. The physiotherapy would have
to wait.

Later ... Chris lay face up on the bed, his arms above his head. Naked too,
leaning on my elbow, I stroked his belly and thigh and his limp but
satisfied penis. An earlier conversation resumed.

'I don't blame Cody,' Chris said. 'He wanted it to be him on his own, when
Miguel got his final punishment. I can understand that, seeing how Miguel
had been treating him.  And it was kind of a compliment to me, flooring
Miguel with an uppercut in the same way I did the other night!'

'Yeah, that's what he told me,' I growled, 'but I sure wish he hadn't left
you to get tortured for so long!'

'Well, if I can forgive him, I reckon you can!' grinned Chris. 'And it's
good that he alerted the Organization before heading out west. I wish I
could see the faces of the Organization guys when they find Miguel and the
supervisor handcuffed together like that! Man, that'll be the last we see
of that goon and that creep -- life won't be worth living for them in
Gotham City no more!'

'But life will be worth living for us, huh? There's a chance I'll be posted
to the Gotham City branch of my bank ...'

'Whaaat? Why didn't you tell me before, you sweet kid!' Chris pounced on
me, and I found myself squeezed tight against his chest. I gasped: despite
last night's pummeling, those arms were strong!

'"Life will be worth living," says Mr Rawlings! That's your English
understatement, I guess!' Then Chris nuzzled my neck, his tongue caressing
my skin, and I shuddered in exquisite agony ...