From Morocco to Paris Read online

  Zane groaned. “You are in for such a shock.”

  “I, for one, can’t wait for a nice hot roll in the sand.”

  “You’re sure as hell not rolling with me!” Zane failed to keep his voice down and didn’t care. “Besides, they didn’t do that in camp, despite what you think about secret lovers! It was a time for preparation!”

  “Oh ho ho,” Davey said and chuckled, holding up a finger. “I beg to differ. When your whole day was spent marching in the desert heat, I bet you looked forward to a blowjob at night.”

  “Move!” Zane demanded. He leapt to his feet and pushed at Davey’s legs with his knees. “I’m going to the bathroom!”

  Davey smirked and sat up. “Turned you on, did I?”

  Zane went to the back of the train. In the tiny bathroom he splashed cold water on his face. He wanted some aspirin as soon as they got to the hotel.

  Twenty minutes later they arrived in Melilla and took a cab to the hotel. Davey had actually picked up some Arabic, and the cab driver spoke broken English. Since Davey also spoke his language in a broken way, they managed to cobble together a conversation. Zane would have marveled at Davey’s ingenuity, but his head throbbed.

  In his room, Zane found some aspirin in his travel bag, took them, and laid down. A twenty-minute rest did wonders. Also, not having Davey around helped.

  Finally Zane got up, put on a fresh t-shirt, slipped on his shoes, and went out to the patio. The other three were at a table, already eating. Davey wore his djellaba, though he obviously had clothes on underneath. Grudgingly, Zane inwardly admitted the color looked good on him.

  “Do you like it?” Davey asked and smoothed his hands over the robe as Zane sat down.

  “It’s very you,” Zane said.

  “I think it looks striking on him,” Cristiano said. “It’s a good color.”

  Zane looked at the menu. His head had stopped aching, but he still felt out of sorts. Elliot seemed broody as well. Zane soon discovered why.

  “I really wish you were going with us,” Elliot said wistfully to Cristiano. “Even though it’s going to suck.”

  “I’ll be back after,” Cristiano said and smiled gently at him. “I have to be in Milan for the unveiling of my fall line. I have full trust in my costumers.” He shot Davey a look. Davey saluted him.

  Zane didn’t have any words of comfort for Elliot. He never got serious with anybody he fucked on set — the relationship always ended in a twinkling. He intended to keep up that mantra, no matter how much Davey tried to convince him otherwise.

  “I was telling Zane how sexy it’s going to be out in the desert,” Davey said, around a mouthful of food. Elliot looked at him the same way Zane had on the train.

  “I’m serious!” Davey protested. “All that testosterone. All us men, stuck together for weeks on end. No showers, just being hosed down, living like animals. It’s going to be so overwhelmingly masculine.”

  “Like a gay Disneyland,” Zane said. He looked apologetically at Cristiano. “No offense.”

  Cristiano smiled. “Actually, I wish I were going with you, since you put it that way.”

  After they ate, Davey followed Zane back to his room. Elliot and Cristiano wanted to be alone.

  “Poor Elliot, he’s going to end up broken-hearted,” Davey said.

  Zane opened the windows to let some air in.

  “He should know better,” Zane said. “Getting emotionally attached to people on a movie. That’s just stupid.”

  “Yeah. Feelings are for idiots.”

  Zane shot him a look. Davey smiled sweetly.

  “I’m gonna use your bathroom, okay?” Davey said and headed toward the bathroom, his djellaba fluttering in the breeze.

  Zane sat by the windows, gazing out at the water and the afternoon sun slanting on the sand. He thought about calling his mother. Or maybe taking a nap. He wasn’t used to having so much idle time. He reasoned he could fire up his laptop and check Elliot’s correspondence, if he wanted to be a really good employee.

  Zane didn’t look around when the bathroom door opened. Davey cleared his throat.

  Zane turned and saw him in the doorway, leaning against the frame, obviously now bare under his djellaba. Most of the clasps were undone but the fabric strategically covered his naughty parts. Still, a hint of bare chest and smooth, flat belly, along with a glimpse of thigh, made an alluring sight.

  “How’s it feel?” Zane asked.

  “Sensual.” Davey walked toward him, feet slapping on the floor, his movements making the robe shift, providing glimpses of more intriguing things.

  He stopped next to Zane and held the edge up. “Wanna feel?” he asked.

  Zane touched the fabric and nodded. “Linen.”

  Davey smiled and dropped the robe. “And I’m supposed to be the expert? You can tell fabrics by touch.”

  “Yeah, well, you help people get dressed up enough, you learn.”

  Davey leaned over and placed his hands on the arm of the chair. He whispered, “Wanna play harem?”

  Zane made a face. “My head still hurts.”

  His head didn’t hurt, but the real reason for the rejection would take longer to explain. Not wanting to get emotionally involved. Didn’t want to end up like Elliot.

  Davey stood silent for a moment. Then he suddenly pinched Zane hard on the side.

  Zane yelped. “Ow! What the fuck!”

  Sinister playfulness flashed in Davey’s eyes. A smirk tugged at his lips. He lurched forward and tweaked Zane again, hard, near his right nipple.

  “Damn it!” Zane swung and whacked him on the arm. “Stop!”

  He didn’t stop — in fact, Davey started assaulting him fresh with pinches and pokes, little stinging attacks, feeding his fury. Zane slapped Davey’s hands and arms, not being gentle, and then started pummeling him with his fists across his chest and shoulders. Davey punched him in return, hard enough to make him cry out.

  “Come on!” Davey said and backed up, skin flushed, a huge grin on his face. He pushed his hair back and made a ‘bring it’ gesture. His robe hung open, concealing nothing, and the bastard had an erection.

  “Quit. Fucking. With. Me.” Zane snarled. “Get out of my fucking room!” He pointed furiously at the door.

  “Pussy,” Davey spat. “C’mon. Come on!”

  Zane got to his feet, not to fight but to get away from him. However, Davey attacked, throwing his body against Zane and grabbing his upper arms and sinking his nails in. Zane yelped and pushed back, trying to gain leverage.

  A glorious fight ensued. Davey proved quite strong, and Zane wasn’t afraid to use all his own strength against him. They tumbled over furniture, pushed and clawed and punched, and finally landed on the floor. Davey pressed bare and hot against him, his robe tangled around them. He laughed and screamed while Zane snarled and swore.

  Zane got hard too. He barely had time to consider what deviants they were as Davey didn’t relent for a second and started trying to rip Zane’s clothes off. Zane’s t-shirt tore at the collar as Davey yanked with both hands. Zane finally pinned him down, but Davey did an incredible twist-around wiggly thing and managed to escape from underneath him.

  Davey ran toward the bathroom, rumpled djellaba flowing behind. Zane tried to grab a handful of the fabric or his ankle but missed both.

  Zane leapt to his feet and reached the door just before Davey could slam it shut, flung himself against the wood, and pushed. Davey pushed with all his weight on the other side. After a minute of fierce struggling, Zane managed to push harder and forced the door inward. Davey leapt away and Zane stumbled into the bathroom.

  They faced each other, drawing heaving breaths. Zane trembled with adrenaline, his cock ridiculously hard in his jeans; Davey’s djellaba hung open, falling off one shoulder, his cock also unabashedly at attention. His eyes glowed with expectation.

  “Come on,” Davey whispered.

  Zane dashed at him, and Davey tried to run, but the room only had one door. Zane
caught the djellaba in one hand, Davey’s hair in the other. Davey wailed, though the sound resembled delight more than pain. Zane pulled him struggling toward the sink, Davey’s sweaty hair fisted in one hand, the other pulling so hard on his djellaba Zane heard the fabric rip.

  “Oh fuck,” Davey gasped as Zane forced him over the sink.

  Davey’s hands left sweaty trails on the countertop as he tried to brace himself. Zane saw in the mirror his own face looked like that of a beast, his eyes wild, hair a mess, clothes askew and his t-shirt ripped down the front. He pressed against Davey’s legs and ass so he couldn’t escape and started undoing his belt. Davey didn’t act like he wanted to escape, however.

  Zane yanked his belt out of his belt loops with a few jerks. Davey widened his eyes in the mirror and started struggling.

  Zane held him down with a firm hand on his upper back. “Stay,” he snarled.

  “You’re not going to hit me with that!” Davey said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Zane took his hand off Davey’s back and grabbed both his wrists. Davey stilled and then gasped as Zane began lashing his hands to the faucet. He didn’t fight, or at least not hard enough to impede the task. The belt secured and satisfied Davey couldn’t go anywhere, Zane started looking for something to use as lube. The fruity bath oil had been depleted.

  “Oh my God! You fucking animal!” Davey yelled and yanked at the belt. The faucet jerked and Zane wasn’t in a mind to care what the hotel staff would do if they ripped their fixtures out.

  Zane delved into his travel bag on the closed lid of the toilet and pulled out a bottle of hand lotion, along with a condom.

  Davey couldn’t do anything, completely vulnerable, finally at Zane’s mercy. Zane saw the look on Davey’s face in the mirror though, the eagerness in his eyes, the open-mouthed breathing, making all his protestations useless.

  Zane flung Davey’s djellaba up in the back, exposing his ass. Davey moaned.

  “You’re going to fuck me?” Davey asked. His legs were already spread wide apart. “While you’ve got me tied up to your sink, you sick fucking bastard?”

  Zane undid his jeans and pushed them down, along with his shorts. He ripped the condom packet open and slipped the condom on, then squirted a generous glob of lotion into his palm.

  “You fucking asshole.” Davey said and jerked at the belt again. “This is rape! This is rape, you bastard!”

  Zane paused at those words. “That’s a bit strong, isn’t it?”

  Davey looked over his shoulder and scowled. “You’re ruining it! Just play along.” He turned back around. “Animal!”

  Zane tried to regain his bearings and rubbed his cock lewdly against Davey’s ass. He reached around with the hand not full of lotion and squeezed Davey’s rigid cock tightly.

  “You can’t rape the fucking willing, you whore,” Zane said, hoping that was more what he wanted to hear.

  Davey squirmed. “Oh fuck.” He panted. “You’re still a dirty fucking prick!”

  Zane slicked the lotion over the rubber on his cock, barely lasting through the stimulation, and then forced himself in without any further preparation. He couldn’t make himself be wholly sadistic though, and when he felt resistance and Davey shrieked he eased up.

  Davey took him fully soon enough, with little complaint, so hot and tight Zane barely kept up the act. Zane moaned harshly, gripping Davey’s hips, his lotion-slick hand sliding on Davey’s skin.

  Davey didn’t keep up the act very well either. He slammed his hips back, body jerking, and Zane feared they really would rip the faucet out. In the mirror Davey’s face was beautifully flushed, eyes closed. Zane rocked into him with steady thrusts, the pleasure doubled after all the pain and struggle.

  “Fuck me,” Davey moaned. He wrapped his fingers around the faucet, clinging desperately. “Harder, oh God, harder!”

  Zane fucked him into the counter, nearly slamming his head against the mirror. He slid a hand underneath and found Davey’s cock again, hot and slick, and started stroking. When Zane felt the first shot of wetness over his wrist and the clenching around his cock, he pounded into Davey mercilessly. Zane leaned over his back, coming while Davey shuddered in his own orgasm, both moaning and gasping, Davey’s hands clenched into fists on either side of the faucet.

  When Zane’s cock stopped jerking, he slid out, panting and trying to get his wits about him. He wanted to collapse on the floor but instead whipped the condom off, tossed it toward a nearby wastebasket, and began undoing the belt. Davey groaned and slumped, his knees buckling against the cabinet beneath the counter, head hanging so his hair filled the sink.

  Once freed, Davey slid to the floor, and Zane joined him. Davey rubbed his wrists, the flesh red and marked with lines.

  Neither said a word for a few minutes. Zane still had his pants and shorts around his ankles, his wet cock softening against his thigh. Davey had his djellaba gathered haphazardly around him.

  “Are you all right?” Zane finally asked.

  Davey looked over. His eyes were heavy-lidded and a smile played on his lips.

  “I’ve never been better,” he said, and then winced. “Except, maybe my ribs where you were punching me earlier. God damn.”

  “You started it.”

  They eventually hauled themselves up off the floor. Zane pulled his pants up and put the lotion away. He unwound his belt from the faucet. They went out to the room and Davey sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his wrists still.

  “I think I’m gonna need some salve,” he said.

  “What will you tell people when they see the marks?” Zane asked.

  “The truth.” Davey smirked. “Rough sex.”

  Zane smirked back, strangely all right with the answer. “You want a smoke?”

  “Of course I do, go grab them from my room. My keycard is on the nightstand.” Davey moved up to the pillows and leaned back gingerly. “We’ll be letting go of all our creature comforts soon. Might as well enjoy them while we can.”

  Zane smiled. Beating up Davey and manhandling him had done more for his mood than aspirin, booze, and rest combined, and somehow he knew Davey was aware. He understood Zane needed to let out some aggression. Though really, Zane wouldn’t have hurt Davey without provocation or his consent.

  Zane felt a little lurch in his stomach. Oh no. Feelings.

  “Yeah, I guess no more fun for us,” Zane said. “That’s okay though. It’ll be sexy.”

  Chapter 5

  “Is this sexy enough for you yet?” Zane asked.

  Day six in the desert had nearly concluded. They were out in the middle of the Sahara with the Moroccan Royal Army, the soldiers teaching the cast and extras how to function in a military camp. The world sweltered beneath the slanting sun, even in late afternoon. Zane carried Elliot’s props back from shooting while Elliot had presumably gone to dunk his head in the nearest water source. Despite the replica sword and bayonet being lighter than the actual weapons would have been, they seemed to weigh a ton.

  “It’s got a certain charm,” Davey said as he plodded alongside Zane. Davey’s face and hair were covered with white dust. Wardrobe and props shared tents, and Davey had intercepted him on the way. They were both dressed as lightly as they dared — though anything more than naked wasn’t light enough — for exposing too much of one’s skin to sun, sand, and scorpions wasn’t advisable.

  “Charm!” Zane said and emitted a high-pitched, nearly hysterical laugh. “Yes, you could call it that. Charm.”

  “Suffering for your education,” Davey said. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing dust and sweat into a brownish paste. “Aren’t you learning anything from Saul? This is what happens on location.”

  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. But at the moment, I’d kill for a nice big steak, a beer, and a soft bed with a television at the foot of it.” Zane made a face. “I’d settle for a real fucking shower, too. God. It smells like something died in my armpits.”


  Davey smirked. “You smell like a man. Finally.”

  Davey leaned toward Zane and sniffed. If Zane had a free hand he would have punched him in the nose.

  “Mmm,” Davey said. “Eau de Zane. I’d wear it.”

  “Shut up.”

  Zane started walking faster, despite being exhausted. He heard Davey cackle in his wake.

  Proper showers were out of the question, as water had to be rationed. The showers they did have resembled beach showers, but with so many people waiting for them everyone got about two minutes to clean themselves, if they were lucky. The water came out ice cold, which really wasn’t a problem in the heat, but the frantic dash to wash and shampoo made the experience highly unpleasant. Zane had yet to clean himself quick enough to not have suds left in his hair. The real soldiers found this funny. They had camp showering down to an efficient art and were usually out before the two-minute time limit. They slid their hands over their smooth heads; hair only served as a hindrance in a real army.

  As Zane got in line to return the props, Davey came up beside him again.

  “I don’t think the food is that bad either,” Davey said. “I’ve already lost a couple of pounds, combined with all the sweating. So have you. You’re looking good.”

  Zane didn’t have a huge issue with army rations, but they left him craving something more substantial. They got one sparse, catered meal a day from the craft service, as storing food in the desert wasn’t easy and some foods simply couldn’t be kept.

  “There’s really only one thing I have a problem with,” Davey said. Zane looked over, curious to hear what Pippi Longstocking had to complain about. “This fucking tent situation!”

  “Tent situation?” Zane asked.

  “Yes. I don’t know how you’re getting along with Elliot…”

  “Elliot’s driving me crazy. He’s written six emails to Cristiano already. He’s saving them for when he finally has internet service.”

  Davey chuckled. “Does he lay there and moan his name all night?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m sharing a tent with the guy who dresses Fakhir.” Fakhir Ahmed had been cast as Murad Bey, commander of the Mamluk forces. “His name is Jack. He’s a great man for conversation, never complains, very neat and mannerly.”