Date: Wed, 02 Jan 2002 16:00:46 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: vancouver island, chapter 9 This story involves teen/boy, teen/adult, male/male graphic sex and is not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! This is a completely fantasized story meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading. Not real, not true, no way, no how. It is not meant to encourage unsafe, unprotected sex. Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com Vancouver Island ~ chapter nine by Biscuit The hardest part of that night was keeping well intentioned, responsible adults from helping us. I knew I didn't want to be subject to questioning by anyone who might think police, social services, or anything like that, was a good thing. What we needed, and finally found, was someone well intentioned and not-so responsible. We found Raoul, or rather, he found us. He was an ex-street kid who was not unfamiliar with the Little Flower Temple. He saw us in a downtown cafe where we were totally out of place and he tracked us down in the bathroom. He busted out laughing at the orange pajama legs sticking out of the bottom of our long coats. "Thought so," he said, sizing us up. "A couple of runaway flowers." I guess the temple had a reputation among kids on the street. Raoul was eighteen and had a much older Daddy, as he called him. He and his Daddy were having a leisurely cappuccino at the cafe when Raoul saw me and wondered what was up with the pants. He followed me to the men's room and when he saw both of us, with our matching pajamas, he knew. I'd taken Yves into that fancy cafe so he could use the bathroom. I was downing a quick cup of coffee while he was in there and then went to check on him, feeling like we both stuck out like crazy. I just wanted to give him a chance to shit, then get him out of there before we drew too much attention. Too late, in Raoul's case. Thank God. His Daddy's name was Karl. I could tell he wasn't crazy about the whole idea. He didn't like me from the start. Not the way Raoul looked at me. And just knowing we'd been at the Little Flower Temple gave him the willies. Karl was maybe in his fifties, handsome like an old movie actor, with silvery hair. The two of them lived not far from that cafe. It was weird the way they called each other Daddy and Baby, but not more weird than the swami stuff we'd just gotten away from. It was Yves who made Karl come around to liking us. Who could resist him? He liked Yves a whole lot more than he didn't like me. That first night Raoul and I were getting high in the living room, and we could hear Yves and Karl in the kitchen talking, and Karl laughing. Sleek Raoul. He was a shiny penny. I guess maybe not so shiny before he hooked up with Karl, but he was well taken care of by the time I met him. Well dressed, with the look of somebody who spent a long time cleaning under his fingernails and oiling his body after a shower. He had a pretty chip of a diamond sparkling in his ear and his hair was cut short and precisely. That was one comfortable place they lived in. Louis Quatorze, for sure. Big leather couches and chairs, a fireplace going and lots of nice stuff on the walls. Raoul was a nice thing to look at across the big stone slab coffee table. Raoul was built and dark, with the Latin good looks to match his name. Both of us were high and kicked back with our bare feet on either side of the table, between matching couches. Nice to hear some kind of jazz music playing, after all the weird sitar shit we'd been listening to. All in all, I couldn't have been happier with how the night was turning out. Raoul had his eyes half shut, looking at me with a little grin. His knees were spread wide and I could see he was sort of turned on, no flag waving but he was bulked up on his way to it. "Better?" I heard Karl ask Yves. He was coming out of the kitchen, carrying the boy on his arm and smiling. "Eh bien," said Yves, "much, much better, for sure." He was smiling too, so it didn't raise any alarm with me. If Yves was okay with it, it was okay. I saw Yves's feet were bare and had bandages taped on them and figured out Karl had been looking after him. Nice excuse to get an armful of Yves. At least he carried him over to me and that was a good thing. "So," Karl said, setting Yves down on the couch next to me. "Yves's been telling me what a wonderful guy you are." Lies, for sure. "I think," Karl said, "you two should stay put here. For a few days anyway, at least until Yves's feet are healed, and then we'll see." No argument from me. Karl sat down next to Raoul, whose face had turned to him, no doubt giving him that same sweet look he'd been giving me, if not sweeter, since Karl was moved to kiss him. I liked that. I liked it a whole lot more than anything I'd seen at the temple. It just didn't seem right to me that if you found a flower you liked that you'd let somebody else tell you when and how and where you could touch him. With Karl doing a slow tongue dance in his mouth, Raoul's dick was getting pretty impressive looking. Yves tugged on my pajama shirt. "You be tired Jamie." Um, yes, I did be tired. I turned to stretch out, holding my arms open to my own baby, my flower, my wood chopping, tobacco rolling, personal savior. Still in his silly orange pajamas, with his taped up feet, he gave me one of his best smiles and crawled up my body to get comfortable. My happy dick was in its nest between our warm stomachs and all was right with the world. It was pretty damn cozy there, with Raoul and Karl steaming up one couch and me and Yves warming up the other one. I found the wet noises they were making over there as hot as anything, and pretty soon my body was back at the needy state I'd been in when all hell had broken loose from Yves's butt at the temple. But it was a lazy kind of hot, I liked how Yves's was cuddled up to me and I was content to take it slow. I looked over and saw that Raoul had Karl's face in his lap. A beautiful thick dark rod, shaved clean as a whistle and glistening with spit, disappearing in and out of Karl's lips. He had Raoul's balls cradled in the palm of his hand and was working on him at a leisurely pace. Raoul's face was something to see, his eyes shut to little slits and his mouth open. As Yves would say, I think he was liking that pretty much. It was so different from the past two days. For me, some of the stuff we'd done at the temple had been real intense; mind fuckingly good. This was better. No guilt, no weirdness, no fear. For Yves, a thousand times better, I'm sure. On that couch, we were finally relaxed and able to let go into each other. It was warm and his head was on my shoulder, and I could spend as much time as I wanted to rubbing his back and stroking his ass; so good to feel his limbs get heavy and loose. I didn't realize how tense his body had been until I felt it melted and soft again, like it used to be on top of me in the warm nest of my sleeping bag, on the beach. The only hard thing left, three warm inches, like a thumb, resting in the crease of my hip. Nobody telling us how to do it, nobody taking pictures of us doing it. Nobody saying, oh man I don't believe this shit. Maybe we put on a show for Raoul and Karl, but no more than they did for us. When Yves turned around on me to suck my dick, I made a little spit pool for him on my tit and jerked him off, rubbing his little knob in it. Some point or other, Karl got the rest of us up off the couches and sent us off to bed. I'd thought, after the hotel in Seattle, that maybe growing up on the beach without a real bed, Yves just didn't care for a regular mattress. But he liked this one, just fine. It was Nathan Jones in the hotel bed he hadn't liked. The bed at Karl and Raoul's was a whole other story. He plumped up the pillow about a million times, grinning, landing a fist in the middle of the softness, squirming around in the covers like he just couldn't get enough of feeling the sheets all over his naked body. "Is good, Jamie." Better than good to see him loving it. God, we were spoiled there for awhile. Mornings were slow and easy. Yves got up early with Karl. I wandered in a few times on their morning coffees. It was obvious to me that Karl adored Yves. The kid got up early and made coffee and tidied things up. God knows what all they talked about, but they chatted away in the mornings. I wasn't jealous. The minute I'd walk in there it was all too obvious that Yves was mine. He'd want to be held, to be kissed, to pour me coffee. I'm sure Karl liked it a whole lot better when I didn't show up. Like the swamis, in a way, he just didn't think I rated my own little flower. And I can't say he was wrong. Yves could have done so much better than me. Karl wanted to take care of him and thought he could do a much better job. I don't doubt it for a minute. But Yves didn't want that. And when Karl started wanting more than just chatting over coffee, it was over. I knew something was up when I woke up one day and found Yves still next to me in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Karl was a thoughtful man, and rightly concerned about stuff. He started asking me about schooling for Yves, and sounding me out on tutoring or classes. I knew I should be doing something. I had tried, for awhile, to get him started learning to read. But the way we'd been living, it was hard to stay at it. I was not the world's greatest teacher. Yves had a thousand ways to avoid what he didn't want to do. Karl just went too far. A whole raft of shit that came with his concern about Yves. "He don't do much, but ..." Yves shrugged. "Pet the hair, kiss me. Not so much, but we got to go, Jamie. He be thinking he want to be my Daddy." Oh man. He was right, but what a fucking drag. Karl hadn't done much, but he'd told Yves he wanted to be like a father to him. Yves knew what that meant. What Karl didn't get was that Yves didn't want to be taken care of. He wanted me. And he didn't think of me like that. "Raoul be the baby, not me," Yves said. To Yves, if not to the rest of the world, he was my caretaker. It was only too true. He didn't see himself as a little boy with a grown up lover. He told me a story once that stuck in my head even though I was stoned and half asleep when I heard it. He said, "You be like a prince or something, Jamie. I got to get you back to the palace." Oh Yves. I don't think I dreamed him saying that. It was the kind of crazy bullshit tale that Armand would spin. He must have spun it for Yves about me. If I was any kind of prince, it was the worst kind. The kind that wanders off and disgraces the royal family. If we'd stayed there, things were bound to get worse. Raoul was getting as edgy as Yves. He was flirting with me a lot. Half the time I think he did it out of jealousy, trying to provoke Karl. It was definitely time to go. I guess in all, we were there for more than a month. We had new clothes, we'd been well fed and looked after. For a time it had almost seemed like the four of us were sort of a family. The truth is, we weren't. Yves was my family. And my mom was still waiting for me to come home to New York. My mom. It was time for me to make another one of those phone calls I dreaded. But I just couldn't make myself do it. I was too scared that I would break down and it would mean losing Yves. Our luck took a nosedive. When we left, Karl was so miserable I thought he was going to cry. We had to promise to stay in touch with him and I had to endure him apologizing to me for kissing Yves. By then it was more than time to go. >From the comfort and luxury of staying with Raoul and Karl, we started the bus ride to hell. I think I was burnt out. It was the longest I'd ever been out on my own, and with Yves to take care of I lost my nerve to turn tricks or hook up with guys who seemed into me. He hated for me to do it, and I was more scared than ever of getting busted. Too much was at stake. No place we stopped felt right and we didn't last in any of them more than a few days. We were constantly on the move, avoiding strangers who wanted to know much more about us than we could tell them. The two of us drew people like magnets. Maybe it was that face of Yves's. So beautiful you couldn't not notice him in a crowd. People looked at him and wanted to know who he was, who was looking after him. They looked at me and didn't think, responsible big brother. The truth is, we were in trouble, and it showed. It was November and we were in Chicago and I called Joe Davis. I broke down, completely. No money, no idea what to do or where to go. God, I was fucked. I'd lost it. If a guy even looked at me like he wanted his dick sucked, I freaked; sure I was seeing some kind of undercover cop. I had about ten bucks left and Yves tucked into a phone booth with me, freezing our asses off. We'd spent the night in one of the scariest shelters I'd ever been in. I hadn't slept, too scared to close my eyes. All night I fought with myself over what I knew I had to do. On the phone, I asked for Joe, for the first time ever. I knew it was all over and I had to tell him so. I lost it right there. And Yves had to hear me lose it. My voice went, and then I was crying. The more Yves hugged me, the harder I cried. Total fucking meltdown. I told Joe Davis everything. And he told me he was coming to get us. He wasn't sending money, he was getting on a fucking plane. Somehow we found our way by train to the airport. My brain was fried. I think when we got there, we spent almost an hour in the men's room. Me sitting on the fucking toilet with Yves's in my lap. The two of us were desperate to be touching, like maybe we'd never be able to do it again. Joe didn't say a word about what he would do about Yves. He'd said, don't worry. But what did it mean? Not a fucking thing. Who in their right mind would say don't worry, you won't lose that kid you've been trying so hard not to fuck. Yves had turned eleven in the middle of November. Like it made a difference. I never had any right to take him, and I had no right to keep him. I didn't believe for a second that Joe Davis would let me. I wished to God I was older, smarter, stronger and had my shit together. I wasn't and I didn't. All I could do was wait for the ax to finish falling.