Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction and does not imply anything about anyone, real or imagined.
Tristan looked out the window and studied the white clouds as they passed the window. It was pitch black outside, but the lights at the leading edge of the wing lit up the sky for a few miles ahead of the plane. Far below them he could see the water glistening from the moonlight. The ocean seemed to stretch on forever. He felt a nudge over his leg and he turned to look at Zac. They smiled at each other.
"What you looking at?" Zac asked.
"I was wondering how far we are, but I guess looking out the window isn't a good way to tell."
"No," Zac said with a laugh.
They were flying in one of Tristan's private jets to Paris. They'd packed for France and left that evening. Zac had to make a few calls and he had to do the same. His private jets differed a little on the inside, but he liked this one the most and he was glad that it had been randomly picked and fuelled for them to use. The interior was ivory with traces of burgundy wood finishes. There were a few well spaced recliners and even some tables. He was sitting on the left side of the plane in a large leather chair that was soft and very comfortable. Zac was sitting opposite him in a similar chair. This afforded them the chance to look at one another during the flight. There was a slide out table between them that he had been using to do some work on his laptop. Zac was reading a fictional novel but he was the worst company ever. Tristan was convinced that he hadn't read a single page throughout the four-hour flight. He kept on looking at him over the tip of the pages, or he'd smile as if he'd seen or thought of something funny. Occasionally he'd start a conversation. Tristan had done almost no work. The company had asked him to deliver some work to the French branch while he was there and he'd accepted. It did require some tweaking on his part though, which he hadn't managed to do! He sat up in his chair as if typing on his laptop. Zac's legs were stretched out and rested on his.
Tristan sat back and rubbed his eyes. His hands instinctively fell down and started massaging Zac's feet through his white socks. Zac closed his eyes and put his head back. He was breathing deeply.
"I love it when you do that," he said with a smile on his face.
"I've only started doing it on this flight," he said. "I see you like it, though, so I'll make sure to do it in the future."
"Thanks," Zac said, his eyes still closed in ecstasy. "You know what I want to do?"
"What?" Tristan replied, wondering what mad idea Zac had concocted for Paris.
"Introduce you to my parents."
Tristan blinked in surprise. "Okay, I wasn't expecting that. I thought you were going to say climb the Eiffel Tower or something."
"Been there, done that," Zac said dismissively. "I want to get on with my life."
"Just don't move too fast," Tristan said. Zac suddenly looked at him suspiciously.
"What do you mean?" he said in a monotone.
"I mean you have a lot to lose. You don't know how your parents will react, and no matter what you think, you're still a celebrity with a secret that will blow the mind of most magazines."
"I don't care."
Tristan sighed. "You can be so stubborn some times."
"You love it," Zac said with a smile as he dug his heels into Tristan's knees. Zac's legs were strong. He could feel the muscles pulling in his jeans each time he moved his legs. He wanted to pull his pants down and kiss him all over.
"I love YOU," Tristan said with a cheesy smile. "I just don't want to see you hurt, that's all."
"Would you support me if I wanted to tell my parents, and introduce you?"
"I'd support you if you wanted to join the circus as a clown. I'm just saying that you should consider the downside of any choice, and this choice has a lot of potential disasters waiting to happen."
"Maybe I'll wait a little," Zac said after a moment's thought.
"Whatever you want Zac, I'll be here for you."
"Even if I want to be a clown," Zac said flatly.
"You already are a clown," he replied warmly. "Come sit here."
He slammed his laptop closed and put it on the floor, and retracted the sliding table. In a moment Zac was on his lap and they were facing one another closely. Zac pushed him back hard and the back of the chair fell down into a bed mode. Before he could catch himself he fell on his back and Zac was on top of him.
"You asshole, you nearly killed us," Tristan said with a malice. Zac laughed at him, but was staring at his lips, running his finger over them.
Tristan smiled despite himself. Zac's thoughts were clear even to a casual observer. He pulled his head towards him and kissed him deeply. Zac groaned and ground his pelvis into him. He could feel how turned on he was, though it seemed like it took little to stoke Zac's fires. They continued to kiss. They couldn't get enough of one another. Their kissing was almost aggressive, and he found he had to come up for air more than once. They were both panting. He felt as if he'd run a hundred miles. He hugged Zac tightly, crushed him with his arms. It was so good to have his warm body against his, to have Zac's weight resting on him. It reminded him of how much he liked men, how he liked their size and strength. Even when Zac kissed him, he was reminded of the power in Zac's neck, and his arms. He could see Zac's biceps bulging with even the smallest movement in his white T-shirt, and the prominent vein that ran over his muscles. It made him almost crazy with lust. He put his hands under Zac's T-shirt and rubbed and gripped his back. It was so firm and powerful. Zac groaned again. Tristan loved everything about him. He loved even the small things, like the fact that Zac's hair hung in his face while they kissed, or the way Zac's breath was always so warm. He gripped Zac's ass through his jeans. Zac broke off his kiss and bit his lip while thrusting his pelvis into his.
"Want to join the mile high club?" Zac said with a hopeful smile.
"I'm already in that club," he said.
"Really?" Zac said with a surprised look on his face.
"Yeah. I'll tell you about it some time."
"I can't take this teasing, Tristan. It's too much," he said with closed eyes.
"I'm going to sort you out in Paris," he said.
Zac's eyes opened and he looked at him in surprise. "Really?" he asked, his expression a mixture of trepidation and excitement.
"Really," he said, and he hoped his eyes burned as much as his blood did. He was seriously lusting for this guy. He wanted him bad.
"Let's sleep like this until we land. I'm tired anyway," Zac said.
Tristan stroked the back of his head, and covered them with a blanket that he had stowed in the compartment to the left of his chair. He flicked a switch with his hand that dimmed the cabin lights. Zac's weight started to catch up with him and he rolled him to his side so that they could lie next to each other. The blanket was soft and comfortable and in moments he was feeling warm. He could almost feel the heat coming off of Zac's body. Their faces were so close. He felt like he could stare at him forever. Zac's eyes were closed and he looked peaceful but exhausted. He stroked his cheek which made the corner of his mouth lift into a smile. It made his heart rage in his chest. The hum of the engines combined with the soft cabin lights made for a very relaxed atmosphere. There were no stewardesses, he's asked for there to be none specifically, and the pilots would obviously leave them alone. In moments he could feel sleep folding over him, and Zac's deep rhythmic breathing forced him into a dream, all the while with a smile on his face.
They'd been in Paris for three days and Zac was becoming uncomfortable at how little time they had left. He'd been plagued by radical thoughts; thoughts of him giving up his career and spending all of his free time with Tristan. He figured that he had more than enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, and Tristan definitely did. There was no good reason why he had to be enslaved to a demanding career. They could make a life out of travelling and being together. He knew that his plan made sense and he was impressed by it, except for one small problem: he knew that Tristan would instantly disapprove. Sometimes he thought that Tristan was too rigid about things, but at the same time he appeared to have a moral compass than he himself struggled with. Zac liked to do anything that felt right or good. His heart dominated him, whereas Tristan was dominated by his brain. Both had advantages and disadvantages, which was another reason why they made a good couple. They weren't perfect opposites in that way, though. On occasion Zac found himself struck by a moment of logical clarity, and he'd seen Tristan become an emotional animal, ruled by nothing more than his primal feelings.
He thought back on the past three days and all the fun they'd had. Strangely enough, they actually did visit the Eiffel Tower. He never thought that perhaps Tristan was the one who'd never been to the top, and seeing the joy on his face as they stared over Paris was one of his fondest memories. They'd spent the rest of the time doing what he imagined any normal couple would do, namely couple things, or maybe gay things. They'd spent a whole day just browsing around in shops and looking at anything from trinkets to clothes, and they'd purchased remarkably little. Zac thought that for both of them the real pleasure was just being with the other person and learning about them. He never got tired of Tristan, and he hoped his feelings towards him never settled. When he thought about him he smiled, and when he saw him his heart skipped a beat and fine prickles danced over the skin of his face. Tristan seemed to respond in a similar way. He also found that he never tired of talking to him. He didn't consider himself a highly verbal person, but he found himself speaking for most of the day when they were together. Conversation formed naturally. His mind wanted to open up to Tristan, almost like it was reaching out to touch him.
Physically he was still feeling mildly deprived, though not in a way to make him feel distressed. It was more the irritation of a glass filled most of the way but not quite touching the brim. His mind constantly thought about sex. It plagued him so much he thought he was diseased. His hormone levels were sky high, and he felt like his dick was pulsing all day. Even the slightest untoward movement caused him an erection, from bumping into someone to sitting down for coffee. It really was becoming a problem. His heart rate was always high, and he was sweating way more than he was used to. He looked down and saw the beginning of a feint sweaty patch in the centre of his chest. He sighed. He had to change his shirt three times a day, which was unheard of for him. He was barely sweaty after the gym and now suddenly he'd have random beads of sweat running down his neck, or under his arms. He knew the cause. He needed sex. He needed to get naked with Tristan in their hotel room (which was the most awesome one he'd ever seen thanks to Tristan's fine taste) and consume his testosterone.
The whole experience was torture. Making out with Tristan was unbelievable, and he could sense how it unlocked a deep sexual desire in them both. They made out constantly in the room. They even slept in the same bed, but it was always that one step short of the ultimate act. Sometimes he thought that Tristan was deliberately trying to draw it out and torment him; lying next to him shirtless all night, walking out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist. He would have done almost anything to see Tristan naked. He just wanted to see, that was all.
"Liar," he murmured aloud. He knew that seeing was only the beginning. He wanted to play with everything that was down there. He'd never sucked a dick before, but he wanted to suck Tristan dry. He was sure he could figure it out quickly enough. How difficult could it be? As a man, he knew what felt good. He only hoped that guys weren't that different compared to each other. Once again he felt uneasy. Tristan could get him to shoot just by kissing his nipples – he'd done it again yesterday, but Tristan didn't budge when he tried it back. He'd actually laughed at him and told him that he wasn't made in the same way. It was very frustrating. What did he like then?
"Gah, I can't handle this shit," he said again, softly to himself.
"Speaking to yourself again, my boy?" he heard Tristan voice warmly from behind him.
Tristan appeared and sat down opposite him. They'd come to meet some his friends for lunch, and he'd had run off to pee. Zac smiled at him, his body burning again in the presence of the guy he adored. He felt a drop of sweat roll down the inside of his upper arm and he barely stopped himself from sighing again. Tristan better watch himself. Soon he'd have the physical power driven by lust to pin him down and do whatever he wanted to him.
"Just thinking about a few things?" he said.
"I love the way you talk to yourself. It's a huge turn on."
"You find weird things to turn you on," he said with a frown.
"Actually most things you do turn me on. The smallest stuff is the most powerful. Your small mannerisms, behaviour. Everything. I can't explain it." Tristan was smiling to himself, but talking to the table. Zac couldn't help but respond with a wide smile.
"I really love being in love with you," he said honestly.
"I love you too. I sometimes think its killing me it feels so good. It's like I'm on adrenalin the whole time. I'm never tired, I need minimal sleep. My appetite is meagre."
"Oh thank goodness," he replied, truly relieved. "I thought I was the only one."
"I've seen how much you're sweating," Tristan said smugly. "Is that normal for you?"
"Hell no, it's one of the things that's been irritating me. I can't tell you how abnormal this is. I don't know what to do."
"It's so hot," Tristan said, his eyes suddenly smouldering and lost in his. It was remarkable how quickly that transformation could come over him.
"We should do something about it," Zac said, always taking advantage of a potential loophole. Tristan's eyes slid to the side and he smiled vaguely.
A small silence stretched between them.
"Are you afraid of sex?" Zac asked him directly. There was no point in skirting around the subject. "Jeez Tristan, you weren't abused or something, were you?"
"No, nothing like that," Tristan said, his face thoughtful but serious. "I just want our first time to be perfect. There are too many things that are perfect in this relationship, Zac, and I want this to be another one of them."
"That's stupid, Tristan," Zac said harshly, making no effort to filter his reply.
"Stupid? Why?" Tristan said, taken back.
"We never practiced for our kiss, or our friendship, and they turned out perfect. A thousand different ways would have all been perfect. You're making it more than it is."
"Sex is a big thing, Zac."
"No, it isn't Tristan," he said, and he could see that his answer was upsetting Tristan. He tried to salvage himself. "What I mean is that it has to be a special thing between couples. You don't want to just give it to anyone. I'm just saying that whatever we do will be awesome, even if it's toxic. Because we'll be together, and that's what makes it perfect from the beginning."
"Okay," Tristan said with a slow nod of his head. "I see what you're saying."
"Besides, I have no basis for comparison," Zac said, before drinking some water.
"What?" Tristan said, shocked again.
"Well yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I haven't, uh, actually been with a guy before. Is that... okay?"
Tristan put his hand over his face and craned his neck back with a loud sigh. Zac found himself blushing furiously, from humiliation and panic.
"The pressure," Tristan said between his fingers.
Zac laughed. "You ass, you had me worried there."
"I still am worried. I may put you off sex forever."
"Maybe that's a good thing. I've been horny enough for ten teenagers."
Tristan laughed. "Huh, me too."
"Feeling better?" he asked, though he didn't know why he asked it.
"Yeah, I've been worried about this sex thing, and I've been dating some virgin noob all along."
"Fuck you," Zac said with a grin. "I've been with some girls. I made them squeal. I'll do the same to you."
Tristan laughed loud and hard, and he joined him. "Ah, so that's how you want it to be then. You want to pin me down and have your way with me?"
Zac blushed again and looked at his hands. "I don't know. I haven't thought about it much."
"Bullshit," Tristan said with as much contempt as he could. "If you're half as bad as me you've thought about every single possible thing we could do."
Zac looked at his hands, but a smile spread across his face causing Tristan to laugh again.
"So what's it going to be, mister?" Tristan said with a curious grin.
"I want you to do me," Zac said simply. It was the truth. He'd thought about everything Tristan could do to him, but in the end he couldn't think of anything he wanted more than for Tristan to screw him until he exploded inside him. He imagined it would be painful, but he didn't care.
"Okay," Tristan said with a frown, as if pondering the answer. "I'm up for anything. Well, most things. Let's do it tonight."
It was Zac's turn to look shocked. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah sure. Seriously, I want to see you naked."
Zac wanted to cough but realized that his lungs were empty. It was like Tristan had voiced his own opinion to him. "I want to see you too. Man, I think about it all the time."
"Tonight then. Boy are you going to cum a lot. I'm going to break you." He had that distant feral look in his eyes again.
"Shit, I can't wait. I don't think I can survive until then, Tris," Zac said with a deep breath.
"Me neither," Tristan said with a calm face, but his eyes were heated. "But we're here for lunch with Pierre and Jacques, so we better make the best of it."
Pierre and Jacques were friends of Tristan, and coincidentally they were a couple too. Tristan had been in university with Pierre and they'd been friends for most of that time, and since. Pierre had naturally gravitated towards Europe to start off his new architectural career, but they'd kept in touch on occasion. Zac felt nervous meeting another gay couple but at the same time he was very curious to observe the dynamic between them so that he could look for similarities. Tristan had expected to plead with him, and he'd spent a lot of time convincing him about how much he trusted Pierre, and to a lesser extent, Jacques. The two had been together for a few years now and appeared to be good guys.
"Your friends aren't much for being on time," he said irritably.
"Things definitely don't change," Tristan said with a glower.
Moments later the two entered and Zac suddenly felt nervous. They were in a small Parisian café and there seemed to be few enough people that he could enjoy himself. Still, the other two were forty-five minutes late and it grated at Zac's patience. Tristan jumped up and rushed over to warmly embrace the guy he imagined was Pierre. Pierre was tall, even taller than Tristan was, and he had black hair with some grey streaks in it even though they were about the same age. Jacques had light brown hair and was shorter than Tristan and Pierre, but more muscular than both. Both guys were dressed casually and seemed friendly. Tristan and Jacques shook hands and exchanged some sort of greeting that he couldn't hear. They walked over to the table, and he realized for the first time that he hadn't moved. His heart was beating rapidly at the thought of meeting two guys who knew exactly what he was. It was the most idiotic thing ever, but he couldn't shake it.
"Pierre. Jacques. This is Zac," Tristan said with an outstretched hand.
Pierre stopped short and laughed openly, before slapping Jacques' stomach playfully and whispering something to him in French. Jacques had been looking at the restaurant decor but his head swung around and his eyes bulged before he laughed too. Zac didn't know what so funny, and he was still holding his hand out like a moron waiting for someone to shake it. Pierre realized he was making things uncomfortable and he shook his hand.
"Hi Zac," Pierre said. "Nice to meet you." He was clearly American.
"Hello," Jacques said with a warm handshake. His accent was thick and Zac wondered if he knew any other English words.
"Hi guys," he replied.
They moved over to the table and sat down. He sat opposite Tristan. Jacques sat next to him and Pierre on the other side of the table next to Tristan. He was feeling extremely self-aware. Tristan rubbed his ankle with his foot, and he almost smiled at him. Jacques sat back in his chair and lit a cigarette. It was a habit he was not particularly fond of.
Pierre laughed to himself and shook his head before blowing out some smoke towards the roof. He looked at Zac with such intent that he felt the need to deflect his eyes and look at the table. "I should have known, Tristan. You've never been normal. When you said, Zac, who would ever have thought it would be this Zac?"
Tristan waved his hand dismissively but a wry smile crossed his face. "Don't give me shit, Pierre. You've been doing it since we've known each other."
"No really, I'm impressed. I have renewed hope in every gay fantasy I've ever had." Jacques laughed.
"Hey," Tristan said snidely. "Be nice. Look past the glamour for once."
"Sorry," Pierre said to Tristan, and remarkably he looked embarrassed. "Zac, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be an ass. It's just that Tristan is always full of surprises. When he invited me to his parents' house a few years ago I'm sure you can imagine how `unremarkable' their mansion was. There are other examples, and you must be the best of them. You're not exactly a low profile boyfriend. I told Jacques it would be so."
"He did," Jacques said while looking Zac up and down.
"It's okay guys. Tristan acts so normal around me that sometimes I forget who I am."
"Out with it, Jacques," Tristan said, looking as if his tolerance was at an end. "You look like you're about to burst."
Jacques blushed and suddenly turned towards Zac. He took Zac's hand in his own. Zac was tempted to pull away immediately but he didn't want to insult anyone. He decided to tolerate it for a few seconds.
"Before I regret it forever, I want you to know that I love you," Jacques said in his French accent. Zac almost laughed in his face but he was so shocked he couldn't move. "I read every magazine you are in. I have posters of you in our apartment. I think you are the most beautiful man in the world. I would die for you, and finally, in person you are ten times hotter... is that the word, Pierre, yes... hotter than I could ever have imagined."
Silence stretched for a full ten seconds, before Zac softly pulled his hand away. Pierre and Tristan were looking in different directions but they both looked like they wanted to explode with laughter.
"It's sick, is it not?" Pierre said finally.
"Truly tragic," Tristan said with a wide smile.
"Fuck you two," Jacques said. "I have waited years to say that."
"It was nice. Thanks Jacques," Zac said causing Jacques to smile widely and turn red. Suddenly he sensed that the ice was broken and that all the celebrity shit was out of the way.
"So how you doing, Pierre? Still got that awesome apartment? You should see the art this guy's got, Zac." Tristan winked at him. He smiled back.
"I don't know much about art," he said honestly.
"Neither do I," Tristan said. "Pierre apparently does though."
"I try," Pierre said. "You still live in that small apartment? You can do so much better, Tristan."
"Tell me about it," he said, and then he put his hand over his mouth. "Sorry Tristan, it just jumped out."
"Traitor," he said with a wicked smile. The other two were chuckling.
"I like your apartment, really Tristan."
"It's too late, Zac. The cat is out the bag," Pierre said while pulling in some more smoke.
Zac opened his mouth to reply but closed it. He'd dug a hole and decided to say nothing. He had a feeling he'd only dig a deeper one.
They sat in the restaurant for the rest of the afternoon speaking about random things. He started to warm up to Pierre and Jacques and had a feeling they'd become good, if infrequently seen friends. Pierre seemed to be a successful architect in Paris, and he specialized in massive structures such as football stadiums or skyscrapers. Pierre seemed to have a special kinship with Tristan. They laughed at the same things and teased each other over things that didn't make sense but obviously occurred a few years back. If he didn't know better he would have thought that they were brothers. Pierre admitted that he missed being at home, and that the constant travel all over Europe and Middle East was stressful on his relationship with Jacques. Jacques was a nice guy too. Zac found it amusing that he was struggling to get over his fan obsession with him, though he imagined he'd be the same if he met his favourite celebrity. Jacques shot him sheepish glances and his voice broke or was unsteady when he spoke to him, even after hours of conversation. He hoped it would disappear with time. Jacques was an anesthesiologist, and worked full time at a private hospital. Zac liked doctors. He thought they were hot. It turned out that these two guys were his first gay friends after Tristan. It felt weird, but also liberating that he could completely be himself around them. After a great lunch and tons of chatting they finally left. Zac gave Pierre a strong handshake and a hug, and decided to cause some harmless trouble and gave Jacques a kiss on the cheek. The guy turned white as a sheet and shook on his feet before being steadied by Pierre. They decided to walk back to the hotel. It was only a mile and they needed to walk off their full stomachs. Zac was surprised at how well he'd evaded the paparazzi and for the first time since he'd been in Paris, he saw a guy snap a photo of him from across the street. He tried to remain casual but instantly was reminded who he was and that a certain type of behaviour was expected from him. He stepped up his pace slightly and Tristan followed without questioning him, though the question was obviously there. His mood was suddenly sour, and once again his mind resurrected his plan to put a hold on his life and just spend all his time with Tristan. He felt like shouting with rage, and turned into the hotel lobby much faster than he should have. They entered the elevator alone.
"Fucking paparazzi scumbag pieces of shit," Zac said.
Tristan grabbed him roughly and pulled him into a tight hug. "It's okay, we're alone."
He took a few deep breaths. "Sorry," he said.
"No problem," he whispered into his ear before giving him another quick squeeze.
They walked into their room, which was a palatial suite that always got a rise out of him. He was used to the best by now, but Tristan had a way of exposing him to a level of luxury he didn't know existed. He wasn't a materialist exactly, but he did like the feel of nice things, and the bed was so soft it almost made him comatose when he lay on it.
Tristan put his keys and phone on the table in the living room.
"Look at this," Tristan said.
"Champagne. Dear Mr van der Meer and guest. A small token of our gratitude for your stay and for your previous and loyal patronage. These guys crack me up. Want some?"
"Yeah sure," he said hugging Tristan from behind.
"Guest," Tristan quirked.
"Asshole," he replied. Tristan could never resist a joke.
The champagne was tasty, but he only drank half a glass whereas Tristan downed a glass quickly.
"Slowly boy," he said wiping Tristan's chin with his finger.
"No time," Tristan said with a burp that made them both laugh. "We have a date in the sack."
Tristan instantly took his shirt off and threw the champagne glass across the room. It rolled along the floor in shards.
"Tristan, what's up with you?" he said in shock. This was so unlike him. He looked Tristan up and down. His chest was sculpted and his deep breathing caused his six-pack to bulge out more than he'd ever seen.
"You're mine," Tristan said, and he pulled Zac's shirt off in a fluid motion. "Now that's a great sight," he added, obviously looking at his body with a heated gaze.
They kissed deeply, and he felt Tristan's tongue enter his mouth. They couldn't get enough of each other, as their hands ran over each other's bodies. Zac was so turned on. He wanted to explode. Tristan kissed his neck and felt under his arms. He was groaning loudly. Zac hadn't seen him so turned on before. It was almost frightening.
"Zac, I've wanted this for so long," he groaned while kissing his chest. His lips were so soft.
"Me too, Tris," he sighed. His eyes were closed just from the pure pleasure he was feeling.
Tristan moved down and kissed between his pecs and ran his tongue between his abs before starting to kiss his stomach softly.
"Feels.. so.. good," he murmured. His whole body was electric and burning.
Tristan kissed around Zac's navel and licked it lightly before biting at his treasure trail. He wanted to shout with pleasure. Down Tristan moved, and this time he knew that he'd go all the way. His dick was as hard as iron and his jeans were tenting outwards. Tristan gripped his dick through his pants and he groaned loudly. He undid the button of his jeans with his teeth, which was impressive but not exactly his first thought at that moment. His jeans fell to the floor and Tristan gripped his dick through his black boxer-briefs. He looked down and saw Tristan biting at the pubes that were sticking above his boxers. Tristan was rubbing his legs with his hands.
"You're so hot, Zac. I can't take it." Zac smiled to himself it was so good to hear. "The champagne was strong," he added a second later. An odd thing to say. It was starting to hit him too, which was strange because he was quite good with alcohol.
"Time to see what's under these boxers," Tristan said. Zac couldn't wait.
Suddenly Tristan slumped over to the side and hit his head on the side table. He lay there unconscious.
"Oh my god, Tristan," Zac said, as he quickly pulled up his jeans and ran over to where he was. "Tristan!" he shouted, but he lay there seemingly asleep. At least he was breathing. He jumped up and ran to the phone, all thoughts of sex out of his mind, his brain filled only with one singular purpose: to help Tristan.
He picked up the phone and fumbled momentarily, and then shook his head as he started to feel dizzy. Something clicked in him and looked up at the champagne bottle.
"Oh fuck!" he shouted. They'd been drugged. He started to dial numbers but his fingers were numb and wouldn't listen to him. He fell to his knees and watched as the table fell over and crashed to the floor. Lying on his side he looked over at Tristan and groaned sadly. He felt helpless. His mind was a thickening fog as waves rippled over his consciousness as he fell into an involuntary sleep. Tristan was the last thing on his mind as he finally fell asleep.
Zac slowly opened his eyes. He had a splitting headache and his mind resisted any form of complex thinking. He remembered where he was and tried to sit up. He realized that he was bound with restraints.
"Tristan, where are you?" he shouted. He was in a plane. It looked similar to Tristan's but he knew at once this was a different private jet and that Tristan wasn't on board. The hum of the engines told him they were airborne and panic welled up in him.
"Tristan!" he shouted, and he writhed in his bonds frantically.
"There's no point, Zac. Calm down," he heard from behind him and to his horror Jason appeared and sat on the opposite side of the plane.
"Jason! What is this?" he shouted.
"I warned you that if you didn't behave yourself I'd have to take matters into my own hands. I have to protect you and your career, Zac, even from yourself." The calm way in which he said it almost broke him. He felt like crying.
"You've kidnapped me? You fucker. I'll see you locked up for this!" he raged.
Jason smiled. "If you do that you'll have to explain everything. Everything, Zac. Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Damn right I do," he said without hesitation. "You're going down for this."
Jason suddenly looked serious. "You've changed," he said half to himself. "A week ago that would have worked."
"I'm full of surprises asshole. If I have to ruin myself to screw you over for this, I will. You fucking drugged Tristan and me, and kidnap me. You're history," he said with deadly seriousness.
"Hmm, I'll have to think of other ways to get what I want," Jason mused while looking out the window.
"What DO you want?"
"I want you, Zac. I've always loved you. I've spent years nurturing you, caring for you like the brother you never had. I built you up. You know in your heart that we are meant to be together."
Zac blinked in shock and felt revolted. "Be together? I hate you. Do you hear me? HATE YOU!"
"You say that now, Zac," Jason said, as if he'd been totally unaffected by the comment. "You're just angry. In time you'll see that you love me too. You know you do."
Zac shook his head. The guy was a true psycho. How the hell did he ever let this guy close to him? He struggled in his bonds wildly. He realized that he was wearing new clothes and the thought of Jason touching him made him want to vomit. He'd break his bones if he had to, but he would get free.
Jason sighed. "We'll talk again when you're thinking straight. I need to think, and you're acting like a child."
He walked up to him casually and pulled up his sleeve before sticking a needle into his arm. Zac groaned in pain and watched as Jason injected him with a yellow fluid. Sleep seemed to tumble over him like an avalanche.
"Tristan, please," he groaned before falling asleep again. Despair crushed his soul.
Tristan walked to the mirror of his hotel room and adjusted the ice pack on his head. His head hurt like hell and he had a deep cut on top of his head that would need stitches. Jacques was using a cloth to clean some of the dried blood off the side of his head and down his back.
"Are you okay?" he heard Pierre ask behind him.
"What the fuck do you think?" he said.
Normally he would have regretted his tone but he'd been utterly stripped of his happiness in an instant. The French police had been useless and had insisted that Zac had checked out of the international airport voluntarily and on a private charter jet. Tristan wanted to assault the French captain who tried to sell him the ludicrous idea. He'd called in some favours from his local contacts after that and tried to find out whom or what had been responsible for the spiked champagne. The hotel denied any knowledge of the gift, but he didn't know who was lying and who was not.
There was a knock at the door that Jacques answered. Returning, he gave Tristan an envelope with his name on it. There was a brief letter inside from a friend of a friend who had access to the hotel's video logs.
"What is it?" Jacques asked.
"My friend's contact printed me a picture of the guy who took Zac," he said simply, and he reached into the envelope and took out an A4 sized black and white picture, which was an obvious high definition print of the hotel security cameras in the passage.
"Do you know him?" Pierre asked.
"Yes," he said simply, his hand crushing the photo until his tendons stood out on the back.
"Doesn't change anything," Jacques said. "The police said that he left of his own free will."
"It changes everything," he said placing the ice pack back on his head.
"How?" Pierre asked.
"Because now I'm pissed," he said. Pierre and Jacques looked at one another.
Thanks for reading, guys, and especially for anyone who takes the trouble to send me a message – long or short. Keep the feedback coming. I promise to have the next chapter out within a week. firstname.lastname@example.org