Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction and doesn't imply anything about anyone.

Chapter 8


Tristan slowly descended the steps leading from his private jet. His feet didn't want to move. His body was so tired he wanted to fall over, as he hadn't slept for two days and wouldn't be able to if he tried. His eyes felt dry and irritated, almost as if there were small grains of sand in them that he couldn't blink away. His face itched. He couldn't shower or shave or do anything he should be doing. Since Jason had taken Zac he'd been consumed by a depression he'd not known since the death of his parents, and he thought this time was worse. He knew that he should have been actively looking for the guy he loved. He knew that Zac was almost undoubtedly spending all his time praying for a timely rescue, but he didn't know where to begin, and because he'd been gifted with a quick intellect, he knew that without a miraculous clue of some kind, he'd never find him. He couldn't fool himself, and that was ultimately what had brought him down. Zac could be anywhere in the world, a hostage of some lunatic who took him for some maligned purpose.

He'd planned to make love to Zac that night, and he'd woken up bleeding in the dark and alone. How could it all have gone so wrong? He had so much anger in him he wanted to explode. He wanted to murder Jason and knew that he would if he could get away with it. In his mind, Jason was as close as he'd known to a truly evil man. Murder held no appeal to him but guys like Jason had to be put down like the rabid dogs they were. He should never have listened to Zac to leave Jason alone. He knew at that moment that he was making the wrong decision and he caved in to Zac's wishes. He hated himself for that. Zac could be dead or worse because of him and his weakness to stand his ground.

After he'd discovered Jason's identity, Jacques had convinced him to go with him to the hospital. He saw little point in staying in Paris without Zac, and Pierre had agreed to pack his clothes so that he could fly back when he returned. Jacques had chosen to go into another field in medicine, but his surgical skills were still there and he'd patched up his scalp wound nicely. Luckily his hair would hide it, but it burned and pulled which didn't lighten his mood. Pierre and Jacques had been supportive and kind throughout the ordeal but he hadn't treated them well. He had to make an effort not to reply to them rudely when they asked him something. They didn't deserve it but they understood. He'd have to make amends when, if, he managed to fix this mess.

Flying home without Zac had triggered the depression. He sat in the same seat that he'd been in on the way to Paris, but the seat opposite him was so empty it was breathtaking. He stared at it until his eyes had started to burn. There was no sign that Zac had ever been there, no indentation or markings. He just needed some evidence to tell him that he was still sane. He yearned for the guy in the chair opposite him pretending to read with his happy boyish face, his incredibly piercing eyes and playful disposition. He remembered tightening his hands into fists as they remembered caressing Zac's soft feet while they rested on him. He had no one to talk to, to share eye contact with, or just to smile at and share happiness with. The gravity of what he'd lost hit him as surely as if a mountain had landed on him. He found it difficult to breathe. The whole flight back he lay flat in his recliner seat and tried to sleep. He rolled around, haunted by images of Zac smiling at him, of the hundreds of facial expression he'd seen of him. His nose tried to remember Zac's smell, and his skin prickled as it remembered Zac's warm body, his soft hair and spiky short stubble. It seemed like an eternal flight that would never end. He knew in his heart that if he couldn't get Zac back he would want his life to end. He didn't see it as a dramatic and immature statement, but he seriously considered how unimportant his life would be if they couldn't be reunited for some reason. Something had formed between them, a sort of link or bond that carried so many good things but also created dependency between them. Without the one, the other would perish.

He sighed again as he waited at the bottom of the plane for his luggage to be unpacked by the airport crew. He ran his hand through his greasy hair and scratched his cheek. He didn't know what to do. The steward put his bag down at his feet, and as he was about to pick it up and leave they brought Zac's white and red-striped bag and put it down. He'd forgotten about Zac's clothes. The sight of Zac's neat little blue T-shirt sticking out through an open part of the zip nearly undid him. He put on his sunglasses and bit his lip, before walking rapidly to his ride with the two bags. He'd keep Zac's clothes until he found him, then he'd have fun putting that T-shirt on him.

He climbed into the back of the car and raised the dark separator between him and the driver after telling him to take him straight home. Lying back, it took a moment for him to realize that he wasn't alone.

"Jen!" he gasped, and they hugged tightly for a long while.

"I heard what happened. I'm so sorry, Tris," she whispered.

"Thanks Jen," he said with a heavy sigh.

"Do you know who did it?" she asked.

"His agent. He's been causing him trouble for years. You wouldn't believe what this guy has been up to."

"Why didn't you guys do something about him before this happened?" As usual she cut to the truth like a dagger in the chest.

"I wanted to, but Zac asked me to, and I... gave in. I shouldn't have and it may have cost me everything. I don't know what he'll do to him. I'm scared he's going to... kill him."

He turned his head away from her and looked out the window absently. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands and quickly dispersed any tears that were about to fall.

"Holy shit, Tristan. I've never seen you cry. You didn't even cry at your parents' funeral," she said aghast. There was open concern in her voice now and shock like he'd never heard before.

"I know," he said darkly. It was the truth. "What's happening to me?"

"It means you're totally and completely in love with him, Tristan. It's confirmation I thought I'd ever see. We've got to get him back, and if we find Jason, we rip his balls off."

Tristan nearly laughed but his body couldn't manage it. Jen was an invaluable friend and a person with a beautiful soul, but she was ultimately useless. How did she think they'd locate an abducted person among the swarm of humanity in this place? The police had gone for fifty years in some places and never found a person.

"You think I'm stupid," she said with a flat expression.

"I love you, Jen, but you're na´ve," he replied honestly. "We'll never find Zac. I might as well just throw myself into the sea."

"Boys," she sighed. "You're such uninspiring specimens. Once a boy decides he's sick or afflicted the whole world comes to an end."

"What should we do then?" he said sharply.

"We should be patient and see if Jason tries to make contact. He'll assume we're going to come after him, so he'll send a warning."

"How long should we wait?" he said sarcastically.

"Until we receive an envelope or fax, or email from him."

"That's idiotic," he said, starting to become impatient.

"It may even resemble an envelope like this one," she said pulling it out of her bag. "Addressed to you, and written by Jason."

"Fuck, Jen!" he shouted.

"Oh be quiet... this is what it says..."

"You opened it?" he said angrily.

"Now is not the time to be bitchy, Tristan. Zac is waiting for a rescue in case you forgot. As I was saying, it says... Keep far away and don't involve others in this. If you do, I don't know what might come over me. I might have to hurt someone within arm's reach."

"Oh fuck, he really is going to hurt him," he said in defeat, as he put his head in his hands.

"He's bluffing you moronic boob. Obviously he's throwing this stuff around. He's scared of you. The letter tells us some things, namely that he's scared of us or the law becoming involved, and most importantly that he hasn't decided to hurt Zac. It means his motive is not revenge, but possession."

Silence stretched.

"You may apologize," she said while putting the letter back into her bag.

"Sorry," he said, and he really meant it. She wasn't as one-dimensional as he'd suspected.

"There's something else on that letter that Jason might have overlooked, but for that we'll need to speak to mister Bellaroy."

"Why him?" he asked. Michael Bellaroy was the chairman of the board of his company.

"Because you once told me that he was the most well travelled man you've ever met. How many countries has he visited?"

"I can't remember," he said with an indifferent wave of his hand. "A hundred. More. I don't know. How is this relevant?"

"You'll see," she said with a smile.

She told the driver to head for the company headquarters downtown. He felt grumpy and depressed and in no mood to go anywhere. He wanted to drive home and lie in his bed in the clothes he was wearing and never get up. The only reason he decided to keep his mouth shut was that he knew he wasn't thinking properly and that Jen was. She might have a way to get Zac back, and that trumped anything he might have been thinking.


Zac opened his eyes slowly. His vision was blurry and his eyes felt heavy. He remembered at once where he was, and he sighed desperately. Slowly he started to focus on his environment and he realized he was in a pool area. It was private and surrounded by high walls with a crystal clear swimming pool and several beach chairs. There seemed to be no one in sight, but he knew better.

He looked and saw Jason swimming laps in the pool. Anger and hatred boiled up in his heart, but he sat silently. Looking down he saw that he was on one of the beach chairs. The sun was shining and he felt hot. He was wearing boardshorts. They were a pattern of black and white, but not his. Last night he'd been wearing jeans and a T-shirt and this morning he was only wearing this. She shuddered at the thought of Jason changing his clothes and what he might have done to him. His mind started to imagine the worst but he shook his head slightly to try clear it, but not enough to draw attention to himself. A bead of sweat ran down the middle of his chest and in the groove between his abs. It tickled, and he wanted to scratch it away. It was then that he realized that his wrist was handcuffed to the side of the chair. He should have known.

Jason had kidnapped him a few days prior to that, though to be honest it could have been weeks. Every time he'd shown the slightest defiance Jason had injected him in his arm with some sort of strong sedative. Sleep had come rapidly and couldn't be prevented. He'd tried. He looked at the side of his left arm and saw some bruises. Jason wasn't gentle. He'd been sedated so many times that his arm now had a constant dull ache in it, and his mind felt hazy, almost as if it was stuffed with cotton wool. He let his head drop back but flashes of Tristan streaked across his fragmented thoughts. He whimpered softly, sure that he'd never get out of this private hell. He didn't even know where he was. He looked to his left and saw Jason walking towards him.

Jason was a tragedy. He was exceptionally good looking, with short cropped black hair and a very handsome face. Zac could see now that he was very fit with a body that was almost as well sculpted as Tristan's. It was too bad that he was insane. Zac thought it was the first time in his life that he could actually apply the term to someone and be serious about it.

"Ah, you're awake Zac. I thought we could spend the day here together," he said almost cheerfully. Jason had an emotional ceiling that always stopped short of outright happiness or sadness. He was almost robotic in some ways with a leaden personality.

"Let me go, Jason," he said.

"Can I have good morning kiss?" he said, ignoring the question completely.

"I'd rather fucking..."

"Zac," he said seriously, and his eyes glowed with the hidden threat.

He wasn't scared of the injection, and he thought that an induced coma was potentially better than being in the private hellish fantasy of his abductor. He was scared that Jason would take advantage of him while he slept. Even if he just looked at him naked, it would be enough to make him vomit. He knew that to get from his jeans to his boardshorts required that Jason saw him naked, but he tried not to think about it. He closed his mouth before telling Jason to go fuck himself. It never worked anyway, so perhaps it was for the best.

Jason bent down closer as if to kiss him, and his breathing accelerated. He thought about pulling away or even head butting the guy, but he knew it wouldn't help in the long run. He just sat there frozen as their mouths made contact. He wanted to groan with disgust but instead tried to think of Tristan and happier times. It wasn't easy with another guy kissing him, and his tongue forcing its way in. He felt violated but said nothing. As Jason stood up, he looked at him with hatred, but the guy merely smiled at him.

"Best part of my day," Jason said. He clearly had an erection but Zac looked away. He himself had never felt so sexless. The contrast between Jason and Tristan was almost mind blowing.

Zac listened to Jason droning on about his plans for the rest of their lives. He wanted to laugh at him and tell him he was a madman, but he knew it would be like shouting at thunder. It wouldn't even notice. One thing he was sure of, one fact that ultimately gave him a semblance of hope was that Tristan would not be sitting around idly. Tristan would be scurrying around, plotting, planning and trying to find a solution to his disappearance. He was so persistent... so stubborn. Zac smiled, and Jason thought he was being encouraged. It didn't matter. Tristan would come for him eventually. He knew it in his heart.


"Have you lost your mind?" Tristan said, jumping out of the office chair he was sitting in.

"Tristan, please."

"No, uncle Michael. Not about this."

The middle-aged man sighed and sat back in his chair. Michael Bellaroy was a decent and ingenious businessman who ran his company like the captain of a great ship. He had been his father's closest friend. They'd even studied at university together. He was coincidentally also his godfather, and he couldn't quite shake calling him uncle despite being his boss by definition.

"Tristan, it's not a good idea for your company to be associated with a kidnapped celebrity. We need publicity but not this sort of publicity."

"He was kidnapped. We can't just abandon him. It's not his fault. If anything we should be defending our clients," he said angrily.

"Business is a tough world," Bellaroy said simply.

"Forget business. Even if he was the worst, most unsuccessful actor in the history of the world, which he is not, we wouldn't drop him. He's a very close personal friend of mine, and he stays, even if the company has to carry him. It won't make a dent even in the smallest financial recesses of this place."

"True, but it's not all about money. How good a friend is he, Tristan?" Bellaroy asked honestly.

"Very good," he said, meeting his godfather's eyes. His godfather knew about him and was supportive.

"Very well," he replied, as if his agreement meant anything. He could make the board dress up as women and they wouldn't be able to do much about it.

"Jen said she had something important to ask you," he said, shifting his gaze to her. She'd sat silently next to him while him and his uncle and sparred over company policy. Tristan rarely flexed his muscle in this company, but when he did he always found enough resistance to almost make it not worth it.

"I'm sorry if we've been rude," Bellaroy said with a warm smile. He was a good man, but a focussed and unrelenting one.

"It's okay," she said. "I like watching boys play." He smiled. She was one of a kind.

"If you would like to continue," Bellaroy said with a courteous outstretched hand.

"I got this letter from the kidnapper recently. Look at the bottom right corner. Do you see that circle in the bottom right corner with the square and the triangle in it? It's very small, but it's still a letterhead. Do you recognize it?"

Tristan had to squint to see it. It was very small. Jason had been careless.

"Of course, I recognise it," Bellaroy said, taking off his glasses and sitting back in his chair. "It's the insignia of the Monroe Luxury Hotels group."

"I knew you could help," she said with a wide smile. "Jason is at one of those hotels. How many are there?"

"Oh about three hundred," he said, and he and Jen's smiles slipped. Three hundred? Might as well be three million.

"Allow me to impress you further," Bellaroy said with a cocky grin. "We know that Jason's plane had an uncharted destination, which is illegal of course. However, to get past the air traffic regulators he was compelled to state that he had only one destination with no fuel stops. Therefore he could only go somewhere that allowed his jet to fly in a single flight."

Tristan threw up his arms. "Those jets can fly half way around the world!"

"A moment, Tristan," Bellaroy said with a raised hand. "Most of the Monroe hotels are in Europe, and only a handful are here in the United States. The letter you received has local markings on it, so it originated here somewhere, and not in Europe. And of course, it would be illogical for him to kidnap someone and stay in Europe where he was not a citizen."

"Go on," Jen said with bright eyes.

"There are three Monroe hotels on the East coast, and three on the West Coast. The jet could not have reached the West Coast, so we can discount those. The hotel in New York is sold out for two weeks for a celebrity wedding. The hotel in Washington DC is being renovated. That leaves Boston, where I'm quite sure they are hiding. Or being kept, depending on whom we're talking about."

"Amazing!" Tristan said, leaping to his feet. "Uncle, I owe you ... an island."

"I'll remember that!" he said with a pompous laugh.

"The Boston Monroe was a good choice," his uncle added. "It's known for its privacy and luxury. They even have suites that are totally cut off from the rest of the hotel, for couples who want to be alone."

Tristan made a fist and smacked it into his other hand. "That couples retreat is about to be broken."

After a quick goodbye they made their way downstairs. They walked quickly out of the elevator and before Jen could walk towards the car, he picked her up and swung her around in his arms before giving her a big kiss on the mouth.

"You're amazing, Jen. I don't think I can ever repay you," he said with a wide smile, for the first time feeling euphoric in days.

She staggered and tried to regain her balance, before blushing furiously. Slowly she started to smile and then shook her head as if she'd heard something funny but wasn't willing to share.

"You've always been a good guy, Tristan. It was really great to finally be the one to give something back."

They drove back to his apartment before quickly packing. He decided to clean himself up and went for a shower while Jen arranged the flight to Boston. The water was so hot it almost burned, but he felt like he had days of dirt to wash off, and he was most likely right. Jumping out of the shower he was about to shave and decided suddenly against it, and realized with disgust how neglected he was. In a few more days he would have had a decent beard and Zac would have fainted had he seen that. After examining his face he quickly put on some fresh clothes in the form of beige trousers and a blue collared shirt.

They drove towards the airport but quickly passed Jen's apartment to get her passport and some clothes. While she was busy fussing about in her pad, he grabbed a large apple off the kitchen counter and devoured it. He realized that he'd felt hunger again, something that had seemed to leave when Zac was taken. His stomach rumbled, and he climbed into the fridge and started eating cold meats and bread until his mouth was full of food.

"Tristan!" Jen said aghast as she exited her room. He could only imagine what he looked like with both cheeks filled with food.

"Sorry, I'm just so hungry," he said with a full mouth, breaking yet another set of decent manners.

"You are such a pig. Zac must be awesomely strong to stay with you," she said while zipping up her suitcase.

"He is strong. So strong..." he said with a grin and a gulp of food.

"If you think I'll be put off, think again," she said with a raised eyebrow. "To see the former love of my life and one of the world's hottest celebs going at it would be a direct line to a climax for me, my friend."

"Jen!" he said disgustedly.

"I'm serious," she said.

"I know!" he shouted back.

"So how are we going to pull this off, or are we just going to walk in and take Zac?" she asked.

He picked up her suitcase for her and they walked back to his car.

"Leave that to me," he said with a diabolical menace in his voice. In truth he really had worked it out. Jason was a dangerous man, but not very clever. His psychotic streak for Zac tended to blind him when it came to other obvious things in life, like using hotel stationary to make demands. The idiot. He let Jen drive them to the airport because he needed to make some calls before they reached Boston. Planning and timing, those were the two things he needed to get his Zac back. He saw the airport nearing, and smiled. Zac would soon be his, and Jason would pay.


Zac was laying watching television. He didn't know what he was watching and certainly didn't care. It had been a week since Jason had kidnapped him, and he was starting to give up hope. Last night Jason had rewarded him by not drugging him and letting him fall asleep naturally. He decided that the drug was better. After Jason had turned the light off he'd started to cry for the first time in a while, his heart bleeding for Tristan. It felt like it wanted to rip through his chest and go searching for his love. Eventually he'd fallen asleep but his sleep had been tortured and uneasy, and he felt wasted today.

Jason was a scary guy. He probably thought they were dating and that their relationship was becoming stronger, but the whole thing was so perverted that sometimes he couldn't believe he'd found himself in such a crazy situation. By now he'd figured out that he was in a hotel, though Jason wouldn't tell him which one. There was regular room service to this outside chalet suite, or whatever it was. It was very luxurious but it might as well have been a hive of bees for all the joy it gave him.

After a few days Zac now found himself watching television, yet he wasn't laying on the couch, but on Jason. Jason had decided this morning that neither of them should wear shirts and that it was a permanent rule. He'd never felt so aware of his body. Jason had decided that they should watch Titanic together, and even though Zac pretended to be enjoying it, he felt like he'd been impaled on a spike. Not even Tristan would get him to enjoy it.

He'd entered the room to find Jason sprawled out on the couch with his arms open and welcoming, but he was as welcoming as a spider to a fly Zac thought. He'd told him to lie on him for the movie, which he'd done. The movie was three hours long, and he had to endure Jason stroking his back and whispering sweet nothings in his ear that felt like acid to his brain. He felt insanely uncomfortable. Jason had a rock hard body and short black hair on his chest running in a line down to his pants. For the slightest moment Zac had compared Jason to Tristan, but only because his experience with guys was so limited he wanted to see how much variation there was between them. Tristan had a better body, a better everything. He felt like shouting it in his face.

Jason had a considerable and unsubtle hard on that was tenting his tracksuit pants. From what he could see, the guy was huge. Like most other things, his reference range was limited but the size of the bulge was unmistakable.

"Put your hand in my pants," Jason said.

Zac sighed, expecting this. There was also no point in arguing because it would lead to a brief altercation before he was drugged again. He didn't want to risk what Jason would do to him if he was horny while he was drugged and helpless. Zac thought that the best thing was to settle for lesser evils to prevent the greater one, but his whole body trembled at the thought of Jason trying to sleep with him. He thought if he lost his virginity to Jason he'd go crazy, and likely kill himself. The thought burned his mind, and he tried to push it out, but a silent rage boiled in him. He'd saved himself for Tristan and he'd fight to the death if Jason tried anything.

Slowly he put his left hand into Jason's pants. He kept his hand above Jason's boxers. He'd try limit their interaction as much as he could.

"Stroke it," Jason said with closed eyes and a lazy smile.

It was difficult to miss Jason's dick. It was pointing straight up as if trying to push through his tracksuit pants. He really did have a huge dick. It was at least as big as his own plus half the length added, but not much thicker. He stroked it through the boxers and Jason groaned. Zac hated him, but figured that if he came it would be over, and he'd be safe. He started to stroke quicker and could feel how hard Jason was. It would happen soon.

"Zac, you fucking stud!" he shouted, and his pelvis thrust forward as he started to cum. Zac continued to stroke him aggressively, trying to milk everything out of him so that he'd leave him alone. He could feel moisture seeping through the boxers, and could feel Jason's cock starting to get soft already. The doorbell rang.

"Oh for fucks sake," Jason said angrily, and got up.

He walked towards the door and on the way picked up one of his swimming towels and thrust it into his pants, quickly cleaning up. He threw the towel away, and Zac could see wet spots all over it. He wanted to be sick. He knew better than to try ask the hotel staff to help him. Jason had paid them off too well. Some of them had even laughed at him.

Moments later a guy from room service entered with a tray containing what looked like coffee and snacks. Jason kept his little slave well fed. The guy who delivered the stuff was a new face, though he was sexy with his beard. Not many young guys had beards. He looked built too. Zac looked at him reproachfully, and he hoped the guy could see his unhappiness, and his tear-stained cheeks. He hoped the guy was consumed by his conscience. Jason dismissed the guy rudely as usual.

"Can I have a tip, sir?" the guy said, turning around to face Jason with a wide smile that reminded him vaguely of his boyfriend.

"Get the fuck out, kid!" Jason almost screamed, beside himself with rage.

The guy's shoulders slumped dejectedly and Zac's heart almost went out to him. He might have, if he hadn't been a paid off thug already. The guy turned around slowly and walked towards the door, but suddenly turned and punched Jason in the face so hard he went flying. He crashed into the glass table holding the coffee and snacks and smashed it. Glass was everywhere, and Jason lay on the floor unconscious and bleeding. Zac had never seen anyone hit like that before.

"There's no reason to be rude to the help," the guy said, massaging his fist.

Zac's eyes were wide. The guy had balls. He came and sat next to him, and he pulled back wondering what the guy wanted. Perhaps he wanted to sort out everybody in this apartment for their rudeness.

"Listen, buddy..." he began, but the guy pulled him into a deep kiss.

He pushed him away angrily. His life was making less sense by the minute. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted.

"You're so sexy when you're angry," the guy said and kissed him again. The guy's beard tickled his lips but suddenly things cleared in his mind. The voice. He pushed him away and looked at his eyes. His heart exploded.

"Tristan!" he shouted and hugged him so tightly he thought he was going to break his neck. He couldn't hug him tightly enough. He wanted to melt into him.

"I'd never give up on you," Tristan said into his ear while stroking the back of his head.

They hugged for what seemed like a long time and eventually they broke off the embrace.

"It's so good to see you, Zac," Tristan said, and tears glinted in his eyes.

"You too," he said with a wide smile. He'd never felt so elated. "Wow, black hair... a beard. You really went all out."

"Sorry I made you wait. I had to grow the stupid thing, and Jen fixed my hair. It'll take a few weeks to work out."

"I like it," Zac said ruffling his black strands. It made him look different but very sexy. He hugged Tristan again.

Tristan eventually stood up. "Up you get" he said, pointing to his back, and Zac frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"You get to ride on out of here," Tristan said with a glint in his eye.

Zac laughed and got up and climbed on to Tristan's back. He held his arms around Tristan's neck lovingly as they walked to the door.

"I've wanted to hit that guy for so long," Tristan said as they reached the door. Jason was still out cold with some nasty cuts on his body.

"Remind me never to piss you off," he said, and Tristan laughed.

As they exited the room there were six police officers waiting in the passage. Zac put his head in the nape of Tristan's neck. He was furiously embarrassed that Tristan had carried him out like this without warning him that the police were there too. He'd definitely get him back for this.

"Thanks Sheriff," Tristan said, and the police ran into the apartment. Zac could faintly hear glass cracking and groans as they arrested Jason. Further along he saw another detachment of cops rounding up the paid off hotel workers and charging them.

"We gonna hang them criminals," Tristan said with a mock cowboy voice. Zac kissed the back of his neck and smiled as goosebumps appeared. He was glad that Tristan still felt so strongly about him.

The two of them boarded a plane and flew back home. They spent the whole time looking at each other and touching each other. He was free of Jason and his shit, and back with Tristan. The more they discussed it, the more one thing stood out. Sex. When they got home they were going to have sex, and not stop until one of them couldn't go anymore. He was lusting after Tristan something awful, but by the way Tristan was looking at him, he knew it would be close. The fluids were building up in his pelvis. He felt sorry for Tristan. He was going to nail him.


Thanks for reading guys and for your kind correspondence. I get many emails a week that are supportive and kind, and I really hope I'm making Zac as you want him to be, and Tristan to be likeable. I realize I said that this chapter would be out in a week and that I took longer and I'll try make up for it. It's also an intermediary chapter that is probably wholly unimpressive but I promise to make up for that too. Until next time... rahvin747@yahoo.com